


Despite Everything

by chickaloho



Series: Despite Everything [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Eventual smut maybe lol, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fly My Pretties, Frisk remained in the underground, Genderless Frisk, Gore, Join me in the sin bin, Mute Frisk, Named Reader, Reader Is Not Frisk, Reader has a personality deal with it, Reader has female parts, Sans is a bit of a douche canoe at first, She falls down a hole there's a lot of blood what can I say, Slow Burn, The reader is a lil bit fucked up I'm not gonna lie to you, domestic abuse, fly, reader is female, sans x reader, smut with feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-07-18 21:18:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 45,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7331011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chickaloho/pseuds/chickaloho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're a human running from a world of problems, with nowhere to run and no one to turn to- so when it crosses your mind to climb Mount Ebott, you don't think twice. What have you got to lose?<br/>But when it goes... not according to plan, you stumble into a world of magic, souls- and skeletons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. dirty pyjamas, broken bones

For the second time in twenty minutes, your tear-stained face hits the dirt.

‘Jesus.’ You mutter to yourself, tasting blood a little where your lip snagged on a tooth. Everything is moving around you, the mud and the grass and the midnight sky and the beautiful greenery of Mount Ebott, made to spin by the alcohol swirling through your bloodstream. You push yourself up onto your knees and blink through your tears, trying to focus on something. _Everything is so fucked_ , you think.

‘Everything is so fucked!’ You reinforce out loud, raising your bottle in a vague cheers to the moon as you stumble to your feet. Taking a few steps further up the mountain, you take a great swig from it, cringing at the awful taste. Your thoughts bubble and boil in your brain. Why are you shouting? There’s nobody here.

‘I’m ALL ALONE!’ You scream at the sky, then wildly look around to see if you were overheard, heart jumping out of your chest at a moment’s notice. Through your blurry vision you see the steep decline of the mountain, and far, far below, the twinkling lights of the city. You’ve spent all night climbing this hill, growing steadily more intoxicated, just to get away from the that city. To get away from him.

‘Fuck _him_.’ You slur, another tear dribbling down your cheek.

 **_‘_ ** _You bitch, you were flirting with him.’_  
_'No, no, Johnny, you’re wrong, I wasn’t!’_  
_'Fuck you, calling me wrong! Fucking bitch!’  
_ _His hand came out of nowhere, striking you across the face, sending you reeling as you cry out, leaving a red ribbon of pain across your cheekbone. You hid your face and clutched at your cheek, stumbling back from him like a wounded animal. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched him leave, slamming the door behind him._ ****

You turn away from the city, gulping down more alcohol. You know, deep down, you’re not crying because of the slap. You know the reason you're crying isn't even because, in retrospect, you could have seen the pain coming from the beginning of the relationship. You’re crying because you know that it’s your fault.  
You sought it out, this toxic relationship. Some subconscious instinct drove you, made you attracted to self destruction even while running from the last bombshell. In this case, your dad. You let out a strangled sob at the thought of him and keep climbing. Your shoes are long gone, feet sore and bleeding, and you’re dressed in just cotton pyjamas; not exactly mountain-climbing gear. After he hit you, you got into bed but couldn’t sleep, kept awake by a war waging in your mind. The desire to run, combatted by the fear of punishment. Finally, you slipped on shoes and ran, not even bothering to take your phone. You knew the drill. You’d done this before.

_Fucking bitch fucking bitch fucking bitch_

You drain the last few dregs of the bottle, tossing it into the bushes, ignoring the twinge of guilt. Not the time for environmental activism, your drunken brain reasons. Your numb legs tangle up with each other yet again and you tumble like a dead tree, slamming into the ground for a third time, knocking the wind from your lungs. For a few seconds you silently fight for air, feeling like you might just die right there in the dirt, then finally draw a rasping breath. Unable to muster the willpower to get up, you rest your head on your arms, trying to calm your erratic breathing. Running out of the house had been the easy part; now you had nowhere to go and no one to run to. Having contemplated your lack of options, your first instinct had been to go and buy some good strong alcohol with the little money you had in your pocket. You smile wryly, another tear falling onto the freckled brown skin of your arm. Maybe you and your father have more in common than you thought.

With no money, no friends and no hope, your only plan of action was to get as far away from Johnny as possible. You wouldn’t stay with anyone who could consider hurting you. Not for your father, and certainly not for Johnny; the moron you’d met not more than two months ago in, of course, a bar.

Your anger and resentment bubbles up and you let out another sob, closing your eyes. The ground is hard and unyielding against your stomach, rocks digging into your legs, but you can’t move. Not yet. You think you might be near the top of the mountain now, but you don’t know for sure. You don’t know very much for sure, if you’re honest. Your name is Marie; you’re eighteen- everyone you have ever loved has left you or hurt you- and  _hey,_ you’re fun at parties.

You bury your head deeper into your arms, groaning out loud.  
What are you going to do? You have literally no one that cares about you. No money. No way of getting away from this place. Suddenly, inexplicably, you start to laugh.  
‘I am so _fucked_!’ You giggle into your arms, a mess of hurt and loss and hysteria. You raise your head and shout at the sky, shoulders shaking with laughter. ‘What the fuck am I supposed to do now?’

A large cracking sound makes you start; the immense sound of earth splitting from earth. Looking around and trying to focus through your blurred, tired eyes, you realize that not three feet away from you is an edge- some sort of cliff. Dragging your body forwards with your elbows, the alcohol diminishing any fear and leaving only curiosity, you peer over the edge. It’s not a cliff. It’s a huge hole.

‘Holy shit.’ You mumble. The hole has the diameter of maybe half a football pitch, and with just the pale glow of the moon, you can see little more than a few metres down before it becomes an ominous pool of black. Although, if you squint, it’s almost as if you can see… a sheen? A slight shine against the darkness, like… a force field. You blink and it’s gone.

A thought occurs to you, and your mouth twists bitterly.

‘Trying to tell me something, God?’ You yell into the open air, beginning to shuffle to your feet. ‘You’ve crapped all over my shitty life, but finally you’re doing me a solid! You’re giving me an easy way to off myself! HOW KIND.’ Your voice has raised to a scream, hands unconsciously curling into fists. Another tear falls but you swipe it away harshly, standing now, looking down into the all-encompassing darkness. _Why not?_ A voice in your head asks. _You have nothing to return to. Do yourself a favour and get it over with._

‘How fucking kind.’ You repeat yourself softly, sniffing a little. Everything you do, every action, every effort, every desperate grasp for happiness, has ended in heartbreak. What would you do in the morning? When you’d sobered up and found yourself miserable, bleeding, alone on a mountain-top dressed in dirty pyjamas?

_There’s nothing here for you._

For a moment you entertain the thought of ending it all. Just for a moment, you teeter on the edge of infinity; let your tears fall silently, dark curls falling over your face, arms limp at your sides.

Then, ‘No.’ You say, a hard tone to your voice, turning your back to the hole. ‘No, no, no, that’s not-’ Another loud crack interrupts you, and you have barely enough time to register a tremor in the ground beneath your feet, before the ground drops away. A strangled shriek briefly escapes you as the ground crumbles and you kick off into nothingness in an attempt to avoid being smashed against the cliff wall. For a few seconds you’re suspended in the air, falling onto your back, and a tiny part of your brain registers the first few rays of dawn beginning to split the sky. For a few seconds you are tiny, and insignificant against the massive weight of the darkness. For a few seconds you are flying, too shocked to scream again, unable to process anything but the fact that you are no longer safe. Then a sudden wave of energy seems to pass over you, fizzing under your skin, like being electrocuted but without any pain. You gasp at the sensation but it’s gone as quickly as it came, and you start to fall for real.

Your body drops into the void, away from the safe grassy mountaintop and down, down, down, into the darkness. Your body twists and jerks, wind whistling past you as your limbs flail at random angles, whipped around by the forces acting on your fragile frame. You realize that you are absolutely, without doubt, going to die. You close your eyes. Every breath is a struggle in the increasing pressure, but you’re strangely at peace. You find yourself thinking of your mother, and a lullaby she used to sing to you when you were very small.

 _Goddess of the sea_  
_Let her drift_  
_Let her sail  
_ _To sleep_

_Goodnight, Marie. I love you._

Impact. For a split second blinding, excruciating pain smashes through your back, then you’re gone.


	2. crusting blood, velvet paws

Y o u  W a k e  U p

 

You’re on your back in the dirt, and as your eyes slowly crack open, lashes crusty and lids heavy, you can vaguely see a pinprick of light far, far up. The pain washes over you full force.

_Well, you’re definitely not dead._

Everything. Hurts. Every muscle, every bone, seeps with pain. Your back feels like it’s on fire, having taken the full brunt of your fall, sending frequent waves of agony through your entire torso and along each rib. Both of your legs are unresponsive to your attempts at movement. Your arm, particularly your elbow, feels raw, and as you try to move it unbearable pain sweeps through it, causing you to hiss through your teeth. Even this, expressing your agony, sends pain shooting through your chest- you try to move your head to inspect your injuries but are hit with a wall of torture.

‘Oh god.’ You huff, fighting tears. Your (presumably cracked) ribs send out another sharp protest, and you fall silent, trying to control your breathing. As you lay there, letting your entire being throb with miserable pain, you grow aware of blood streaming from your ear to your jaw, and your breathing growing shallow due to your ribs. The alcohol you drank is doing nothing to mask the pain.

God, you’re going to die a slow, painful death down here, alone. Panic rises in your chest. No, this can’t happen. You won’t let it. You draw a breath, ignoring the fresh wave of agony, and let out a desperate cry for help.

‘HELP ME!’ Your voice sounds raw, throaty- nothing more than a strangled wail. Oh god it hurts. It’s very possible that you could pass out again soon, and you realize that you’re praying that you will. ‘PLEASE, SOMEBODY! HELP ME!’ More tears. You’re so sick of crying. You let out a sob and more pain slashes through your chest.

Was that the sound of footsteps? Or was it just wishful thinking?

‘Oh god.’ You whimper again, trying not to hyperventilate. No one is coming. The feeling of blood starting to crust on your neck is making you want to claw at your own skin, and you’re going to die experiencing that feeling. This is all your fault for leaving Johnny in the first place- hell, if you’d never left your dad you wouldn’t be here. Your silent sniffles are cut off by another voice coming from your left.

‘Oh goodness!’ Your eyes widen, and you don’t even care what they’re saying, you’re so desperate for help.

‘Oh thank god, please, _help me_.’ You whine, rolling your eyes back in your head to try and catch a glimpse of them. ‘Who are you?’ The voice inhales sharply, seemingly taking in your appearance properly for the first time.

‘You poor thing… I’m so sorry that you have had to go through this, my dear. Stay still, I will make the pain go away.’ You feel a presence at your side, and sense that the source of the voice has knelt next to you. _Make the pain go away?_

‘Are you going to kill me?’ You whisper. It sure sounds like it- but you can’t say that you would be opposed to the idea, at this point. A fresh wave of pain from your back illustrates your point, making you grit your teeth tightly.

‘Goodness, dearest, no! I’m going to heal you.’ You feel something against your forehead, soft and velvety. Some kind of blanket? A teddy bear? The something moves a little and with a jolt you realize that it’s a paw, the fur lightly tickling your forehead, warm pads of the fingers pressing against your brow bones. ‘…Paw?’ You say vaguely, starting to fade in and out of consciousness. The voice gives a light chuckle, but doesn’t offer an answer. You get the feeling that they’re concentrating. Slowly, you start to feel energy thrum through your veins, oddly like the sensation you felt briefly when you were falling. Looking down while careful not to move your head, you see a faint orange glow around your body, and as you watch it grow in intensity, you feel the pain start to ebb. You blink deliberately, wishing you could shake your head to clear it. It’s still there. This is happening.

‘How are you…?’ You mumble hoarsely. The voice- you’ve decided it’s a she- hushes you softly, tracing a circle on your forehead with her thumb.

‘We have much to discuss, my child, but after you have slept, I think. I have to adjust your arm as it is contorted, my apologies.’ She gently straightens your arm and you grunt at the sharp twinge of pain, but it is almost instantly dulled by the witchcraft this woman is working. The two of you fall silent for a few minutes, the only sound your shallow breaths and a soft hum from the woman as she works. The feeling in your legs returns in a rush of pins and needles, and with it relief- throughout the healing you had been sporting the niggling worry that your back injury had caused paralysis.

After a while you are able to move your head enough to turn it, and you look up at the woman helping you. In your dazed, semi-drunk state, her appearance doesn’t even cause you to bat an eyelid. If you had to use an animal to describe her, you would use a goat, but she’s nothing like the wiry-haired, grumpy animals you know from home. Her fur is pristine white and soft, ears sleek and long, hanging almost like hair. Her eyes are big, soft and brown, filled with kindness. She’s wearing a modest cotton lilac dress, with a symbol on the front. As you look up at her she smiles down at you, and you’re overwhelmed with a feeling of safety. Eventually, the pain in your back is reduced to a mere ache, and she removes her paw from your forehead with a tired smile.

‘Done.’

‘Thank you… thank you so much…’ You breathe, reveling in the freedom of being able to move without pain. She ducks her head modestly, blushing a little, then rises, holding her hand out to you.

‘Can you stand, my dear? You may be a little jelly-legged.’ You take it and, with her assistance, stand on shaky legs. Resisting the urge to start whooping and leaping about, you take it slow, leaning heavily on the goat-woman. That reminds you.

‘What’s your name?’ You ask quietly, slowly curling and uncurling your fingers and rolling your shoulders.

‘My name is Toriel; I am caretaker of the ruins. Come, we must get you to bed.’ Toriel hesitates as you nod and take one wobbly step, then scoops you up bridal-style. ‘Is this alright? It will be faster and less strenuous.’ You smile gratefully and nod, too achy and sad and drunk and frankly exhausted to really even comprehend what’s happening. She begins to walk through a series of lilac stone rooms, and you dreamily admire the glowing purple crystals in the roof lighting up the way.

As you lean your head against her chest, you drift off to sleep to the sound of paws padding along stone hallways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, gals and non-binary pals
> 
> i totally stole that from tumblr but whatever  
> ayyy you're still here? that's so nice of you! i'm loving this fic, it's flowing out of me like, fuck i don't know, don't make a period joke damn it don't do it fuck
> 
> ...anyway, thank you for the kudos and shit! i'm gonna be posting daily hopefully, so that's a thing. it'll be a few chapters until she meets sans because i wanna build up a proper damn character this time, my previous oc was a little one dimensional. but yeah she's gonna be with toriel for like two chapters tops i'm thinking, maybe less~
> 
> my tumblr - chickaloho.tumblr.com  
> i will always be happy to see you!! and any questions you have about the fic, i will answer gladly.
> 
> love you babycake! (yes you)  
> \- dot


	3. explanations, waterworks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey buds, this chapter describes marie's appearance quite a lot!  
> i've had a very fixed idea of her appearance from the very beginning so i want to reflect that, but at the same time i know it's kind of going against the rules of second-person.  
> OH WELL LOL

_‘It’s time to wake up, Marie.’ Your mother leans down and kisses your temple, brushing a few curls away from your face. Your fingers curl around an unfamiliar red blanket, and you scrunch your nose a little.  
_ _‘You have things to do, my darling. You have places to be.’_

Your eyes snap open, and you find yourself in the same bed as the dream, fingers curled around the same downy red blanket. You sit bolt upright, looking around. ‘Mum?’ Tucking a few dark strands of hair behind your ears and letting out a deep breath, you calm yourself down. It was just a dream. Your mind playing tricks on you. You flop back down onto an almost unbearably well-fluffed pillow, looking at the ceiling. Where the hell are you? You feel sick to your stomach, and your head is pounding. You’re hungover. The last thing you remember is running, and making the decision to go up Mount Ebott, and then… oh. _Oh._ You remember everything.

The hole, the dirt crumbling from under you, the weird, split-second shock of energy you got mid-fall. The pain. Toriel. You rub your eyes groggily, before going to pull back the covers. You’re still in your grubby, blood-stained pyjamas, for which you’re grateful. Being changed while unconscious would be pretty skeevy, even if- from what you remember- Toriel seemed like the nicest woman (?) on the planet. Sitting up again and swinging your legs over the edge, you stand gingerly, then rejoice at the absolute lack of pain. On tiptoe you raise your arms high above your head, eyes closed, revelling in the ability to move your back unhindered. You bite your lip and grin to yourself. Amazing.

Fumbling for the door knob and stepping out into a well-lit corridor, you start to reflect on what’s actually happened to you.

You fell into a big hole- you have to stop yourself from saying ‘that’s what _she_ said,’ out loud- and broke yourself beyond repair. Well done you, top marks, A+. Then you met a woman- a goat-woman- a _magic-wielding goat-woman,_ who _healed_ you _._ And now you can only presume you’re in her house. Treading softly through the cream hallway, decorated with various ugly paintings and plants, you wonder where the bathroom is. You need a shower now more than you’ve ever needed one in your life, but all the doors look the same, and it would be really awkward to just walk in on a sleeping Toriel. Goat-women sleep, right? They must do.

A sudden clatter of pots and pans coming from ahead of you makes you jump. _Do goat-women not sleep?!_ To be fair, it’s not like you know what time it is. Is there even time in The Hole? You groan out loud at that name- but what else can you call it?- walking a little more quickly, past a staircase and into a living room lined with bookcases. A cheery fire flares in a stone hearth, flickering light over a large, well-worn armchair. You didn’t realise how cold you were until the warmth of the fire washes over you, and you resist the urge to flop down in front of it and curl up into a little ball. The sound of cutlery and a familiar hum makes you turn, and sure enough there she is, bustling back and forth between the oven and the countertop where various paper packages of flour and sugar sit. As you get closer you start to smell whatever’s cooking, and it makes your mouth water, the aroma of golden pastry and sugar.

‘Oh, that smells amazing.’ You say, and she jumps, whirling round with eyes wide. When she sees it’s just you she dissolves into nervous laughter, pressing a paw to her chest. ‘Goodness, you scared me dear! Thank you, it is my specialty. Although I was planning to bring it to you in bed…’ She looks upon the stove for a moment, checking that all the dials are in order. Then, all at once, she looks back at you, eyes wide with guilty realisation.

‘Oh! Where are my manners! I never told you where you are, where you can wash- I never even asked your name!’ You smile a little nervously, uncomfortable at her guilt.

‘It’s fine! My name’s Marie. And yours is Toriel?’

‘That’s right, dear.’ Her face cracks wide with a heart-warming smile, although the sharp teeth that are revealed are a little off-putting. ‘You’ve been asleep for, ooh, I’d say about eight hours? It’s late morning now. After your ordeal I was expecting you to sleep a little longer!’ You rub your temple a little, as if that will get rid of your headache, face twisting into a grimace at the thought of the state she’d found you in. Yuck.

‘Yeah, I’m a pretty light sleeper.’ You don’t know what else to say, trying to avoid reflecting on the thought of you bleeding out at the bottom of a cavern, waiting for your own death. Not exactly a sunny mental image to wake up to.

Toriel claps her paws together to dust off any excess flour, nodding thoughtfully. After a few seconds of silence, she pipes up again. ‘Now, about that bathing situation; the bathroom is right down the hall and opposite the room you slept in. I’ve left clean towels on the rail, and I also have some clothes that I think will fit you, which are in a pile right inside the door.’ You raise both eyebrows, impressed- here is a woman on top of her shit. You decide _against_ saying that, because that would maybe _, possibly_ be a bit awkward _,_ thank her instead, and head to the shower.

 

* * *

 

 

You adjust the towel around your head, a few loose strands clinging to your damp neck as you make awkward faces at yourself in the bedroom mirror. You’ve never been the biggest fan of your own appearance; lips too plump, eyes a muddy brown, dark freckles dotted all over your nose and cheeks- and worst of all, a gap between your two front teeth. You shove your thumbnail between said teeth, frowning a little, trying not to focus on it too hard. Instead you look down at yourself, admiring your new clothes. You have to admit, you’re a little relieved. Toriel’s lovely, but the long purple dress and the floral apron did have you expecting something pink, and/or frilly. You are instead greeted with a pale blue tunic with a navy ribbon cinching your waist, and thick navy leggings clinging to your thick thighs, along with a pair of handmade brown leather boots. You don’t particularly want to think about the ethical implications of a goat-woman using cow hide, so you don’t. The whole outfit feels practical and a hell of a lot more protective than your set of cotton pyjamas- which you’d been happy to throw away as soon as you’d peeled them off. You suspect that Toriel might have actually made them for you while you were sleeping- you wouldn’t put it past her, from what you know of her so far- because they feel brand-new and are certainly not hers.  
Shaking your mass of curly hair out of the towel and pulling it forwards over your shoulders, you give your reflection a thumbs up. You look… strong. In a dorky, giving yourself up a thumbs up sort of way. You like it.

 

Toriel claps her oven-gloved paws in delight when you re-enter the kitchen.

‘Oh, Marie, you look lovely! Do they fit okay? I tried to make them from a more protective material that won’t rip easily, but it was so difficult to get the sewing machine to cooperate.’

‘They fit amazingly, Toriel. I thought you might have made them! You didn’t have to do that.’

‘Nonsense, my dear.’ She smiles, picking up the steaming pie tin and striding past you to lay it on the table. ‘Could you bring the teapot?’ You grab it, still trying to figure out how to persuade her that she’s been too generous. You don’t deserve this, you don’t deserve any of it.

You plonk the teapot on the table with none of her practiced grace- even without a hangover, you’d never been graceful- and slide into a seat opposite her.

‘So,’ she begins. ‘I think we should talk about our- well, _your_ current situation.’ You nod for her to go on, watching steam erupt from the pie as she cuts into it.

‘You have fallen into a rather difficult set of circumstances, Marie. You see- have you heard of Mount Ebott’s history?’ You shake your head. You left this country when you were pretty young and only recently returned when running from your dad, so you were hardly cultured. Toriel sighs sadly, as though reminiscing upon something. She places a slice of pie onto a china plate and, sliding it across the table towards you, begins to tell you the story.

‘A long time ago, it was… well, it was a happier time. Humans and monsters lived on the surface-’

You interrupt. ‘Monsters?’

‘Yes, monsters. I am a monster. There are many of us down here, that I am sure you will soon meet.’ You turn this information over in your brain, gnawing on your lip. _Monsters_.

‘In those times, humans and monsters were able to use magic to create some… _truly_ marvelous things. The wonders we worked-’

‘Humans had magic?’ You breathe, then cringe a little, realizing you’ve interrupted again. Toriel, with the patience of a saint, makes no protest, nodding.

‘Certain humans. Everyone has an element of magic within us, humans and monsters alike. Monsters were, and still are, able to control it and manifest it into a physical form- sometimes… too often, in fact… as a weapon.’ She sighs, and her brow furrows a little. You sense a sore topic, and don’t push it. ‘But few humans, for some reason, were able to do that. Although you, too, have souls, few have the ability to use the inbuilt power to your advantage. Unfortunately for us monsters, those who could had… less than good intentions.’

You listen avidly as she explains how the magical humans, who called themselves mages, created the barrier, a magical force trapping monsters under the mountain, that one could enter into but not return from. You feel a little trepidation at that.  
‘You mean… I’m trapped here now, too?’ You ask. Your life on the surface was hell, sure, but at least you had freedom. The idea of being trapped in a cave, is, well, suffocating. She frowns at her paws, then meets your eye and nods.

‘I’m sorry, Marie.’

‘It’s… it’s okay.’ You whisper, looking at the table. It’s hard to wrap your head around, but a crushing realisation all the same- and the knowledge that you’re under layers and layers of rock is making it a little difficult to breathe. Toriel gets up from her chair and embraces you, rubbing circles into your back. You clear your throat a little, before hugging her back gingerly. It’s been… a really long time since you’ve been hugged. At least, if you’re giving up your freedom, you have Toriel. You feel like you can trust her.

‘I’m sorry too.’ You say, sadly. ‘You’ve been dealing with this so much longer than me, it must be so hard.’ She pulls away from you suddenly, holding you by the shoulders, looking at you.

‘I… Marie, that’s… that’s very selfless.’ She says slowly, and you fight to stop yourself from frowning because you could swear the expression on her face is one of guilt. You must be imagining it, your paranoid mind running crazy again. She shakes her head and it’s gone, her eyes falling to the pie. ‘Eat, dearest. It will do you good.’

You smile weakly and pick up the fork.

 

* * *

 

Toriel is sat in the comfy armchair with you leaning against her knees, looking into the fire. She is fascinated with your hair, and asks gingerly if she can plait it. Although you'd normally be embarrassed and flustered by her compliments, your hair is your pride and joy, and her fascination fans your ego despite your best efforts at modesty. You like very little about your appearance, but your hair is the one thing you can change: chocolate-brown curls that took you years to grow down past your waist. It makes you feel strong and in control, stupid as that sounds. You tell her so and she smiles understandingly, if a little sad that you admitted to not liking how you look. She braids it gently as you watch the flames dance, enjoying the feel of soft fur against the nape of your neck. For the first time in years, you feel like you have… a real mother.

After a few minutes she’s finished, tying a piece of elastic tightly around the end of the plait to keep it in place. She produces a ribbon from her pocket, and seems about to put it in your hair, too- but decides against it, her expression suddenly melancholy.

‘Are you okay, Toriel?’

‘Me? Oh yes, just an old woman having a silly moment of nostalgia. There, your hair looks even lovelier than before. Do you want to get yourself a book, dear? These are mainly snail-related if I’m honest,’ she chuckles a little, ‘But there’s some in the wardrobe in your room that will possibly be more suited to your tastes, if you like.’ The change of subject doesn’t escape you, but you decide to humour her.

 

You flick the light switch and go to rummage through the wardrobe, finding one or two stray children’s books. How young does she think you are? As you continue to dig, you find a cardboard box at the back. Dropping it on your bed and flipping off the lid, you inhale sharply. It’s full of children’s shoes, of various sizes and colours, all worn, all dusty. You pick up one, and notice a brown stain that looks suspiciously like… You drop it, clapping a hand to your mouth in horror. ‘Oh god.’ You whisper through your fingers, then frown in surprise as you feel something wet spreading across your face where your hand is.

You hold your hands up to your eyes and let out a sharp hiss of alarm, your eyes widening. Water is beading all over your hands, dotted from your fingers to your wrists, and it’s starting to pool a little in your palms. They feel a little cold, nothing more, but you seem to be… secreting… water. ‘Holy fuck.’ You say, flipping your hands over, backing away from the box of shoes. Too many creepy things at a time, _too much weird shit._ You struggle to remain calm, and snatch up your discarded towel from earlier, wiping your hands on it. After a few seconds of focusing on scrubbing your hands your heart rate has calmed, and the water seems to be gone. That was the weirdest shit you’d ever seen.  
There’s no way your hands had just gotten wet, they were actually producing water, creating it. But that’s impossible. It’s insane. You’re insane. You must have imagined it- but the image of water pooling in your palms remains vibrant in your memory. You curl your hands into fists, reinforcing the knowledge that they’re dry now, and try and shake it off. You have to deal with this creepy-ass box now, and your over-imagination is not doing you any favours.

 Okay, you may be paranoid, but a box full of blood-stained children’s shoes in the house of a woman who, let’s face it, you barely know, would be a red flag in anyone’s eyes. A chill sets in as you wonder if she’s keeping you here, tucked up in bed, her little patient, getting you ready for the same fate as these kids. She certainly seems to see you as a child… Oh god… Your mind is racing, and the kind old woman who healed you, served you pie, played with your hair- is gone in your mind. She’s been replaced with this child-murdering, manipulative _invention_ \- but you can’t let it go. You look at the box, then at yourself in the mirror, and a thought hits you like a ton of bricks.

_What if she’s lying about the barrier to keep you here? What if there is a way out?_

Your face has turned a nasty shade of grey, and you can’t tell what’s paranoia and what’s reality.

Doesn’t a blood-stained shoe count as evidence? You’re pretty sure it would hold up in a court of law. Oh god. Oh god, you’re losing it.

‘Marie? Are you alright?’ Toriel’s voice echoes down the hallway and it feels like something has seized a vice-like grip on your heart. You snatch up the box of shoes in your arms and, after a second of hesitation, you stumble out of the room to confront her. Toriel’s already standing in the doorway of the living room, about to come and check on you. She looks worried, and the look on your face only deepens her fearful expression.

‘Marie?’

You walk forwards and drop the box at her feet, hands shaking a little. ‘Why do you have loads of different kids’ shoes? And why do they have blood on them?’ Toriel’s eyes widen, looking at the shoes, then back at you.

‘Marie... This wasn’t me, I just-’

‘What haven’t you told me, Toriel?’ You demand, forcing yourself to not feel bad for interrupting her, forcing yourself to make your tone assertive. ‘You… you have guilt all over your face.’ She slumps a little, but keeps her mouth firmly shut, breathing heavily. Her eyes flick for the briefest of seconds towards the staircase, and it’s all you need. You take off running, swinging round the banister and jumping several stairs at a time.

‘Marie! Please, I was just trying to save you.’

‘Save me?!’ You yell, not bothering to look over your shoulder. You know she’s following, which only makes you speed up. ‘I don’t need saving, I’m not a kid! I need the truth, Toriel.’ You emerge into a long purple corridor that twists and turns, and you make a vague prayer that you’re not going to stumble across a fork road and have to choose a path.

‘Stop, Marie! Please, just listen to me.’ Toriel’s cries are falling further behind you. The corridor eventually straightens out and you sprint towards the end, seeing a large, purple door. This must be it, some sort of tunnel out of this stupid hole. Your heart is beating out of your chest, full of terror. You’re so sick of growing to love people and being betrayed. You don’t have it in you to give Toriel another chance to explain herself. You’re so done with letting people into your heart only to have them crush it. Your mum. Your dad. Johnny. Now her. You reach the door, but make the mistake of looking back- she’s hitched up her long skirt to run better, big tears running tracks through her pristine fur. You hesitate with your hand on the handle, a lump in your throat.

Toriel seems to see where your hand is and lets out a desperate, pained, ‘NO!’, reaching her paw out, fingers splayed. In a split second, fire flares up in her palm and is flung from it, hissing towards you at incredible speed. You’d have to be inhuman to dodge in time.

The fire scrapes past your shoulder and you let out a scream as your skin sizzles. Toriel stops dead, paws flying to her mouth. You grit your teeth to stop yourself from crying out again, cursing as the awful smell of burning flesh reaches your nostrils. You lock eyes with Toriel again, and her eyes are filled with a deep, heart-wrenching guilt. It was an accident, you can tell- but you dont- can't- care about that right now.

‘Let me heal you.’ Toriel whispers, clasping her paws to her chest. You let out a raw sob and whirl away from her, swinging the door open and darting behind it in a blind panic.

She doesn’t stop you, shaking, letting the tears fall. As the door slowly starts to close of its own accord, she sinks to her knees, clasping her paws in a silent prayer that where she failed, someone else will succeed, and you will be kept safe. She prays that you will never meet her husband.

Toriel doesn’t move from that position for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh shit oh shit now it reeeaaally gets going let's get this party started buds!!  
> hmm why was toriel nostalgic about the ribbon? i wonder?? (could it be because a certain past fallen human wore one certain faded ribbon perhaps)  
> what the heck is going on with marie's hands, you shout? i have no clue!!1! (i totally do.)  
> let's get the ball rolling, friends.  
> as per usual, here's my tumblr- chickaloho.tumblr.com
> 
> i love you all dearly. give me a virtual hug?? no?? okay i understand


	4. blister burns, accidents

The sound of the door creaking to a close is far behind you as you run, arm searing, a new kind of pain compared to the bone-deep ache you felt when you had fallen. The silence should tell you that Toriel isn’t behind you, that you aren’t being followed, but you can’t listen to reason anymore. All you can hear is the blood rushing in your head, the pounding of your heart, the high-pitched needlepoint sound in your ear that tells you a panic attack is incoming. You keep running, forwards and forwards and forwards, try and focus on the rhythm of your feet slapping against the ground but it’s no use, your breath is catching and your mind is reeling and there’s no oxygen in your lungs.

You try to think of the science you used to adore when you could still go to school; try to calm down. Your body is having to use anaerobic respiration in order to supply energy for your muscles’ movement which means that not enough oxygen is getting into your bloodstream meaning glucose is not being completely broken down, causing it to release a by-product, lactic acid, which therefore means- you come to another huge stone door and fling it open, scrunching your eyes shut- which therefore means- the cold bites your face but you don’t open your eyes yet, you can’t, you’re too scared- which therefore means- you open them and let out a choking gasp- which therefore means

You’re

Crazy.

You’ve gone crazy, because you are standing in a snowy landscape, lined with tall pine trees, your face whipped by the wind. Above you is a dark night sky, with what looks like… stars? The door slamming shut behind you startles you, and the breath you’ve unconsciously been holding is tugged out of you, and you’re fighting to get it back because you don’t have enough, you don’t have enough. You press your back to the door and tap uselessly at your chest, watching the path in front of you, counting your breaths, trying desperately to figure out what to do. Looking down at the path beneath your feet you can see large footprints trodden into the snow, and feel another rush of fear at the thought of jumping out of the oven and into the frying pan, from Toriel to another hostile monster.

So that means, and oh god you wish your mind would stand still so you could hold a train of thought, yes that means, _fuck_ your heart is jumping like a jackrabbit, that means you _need to get off the path_. The four words slam around in your skull over and over. Get off the path. Get off the path. _Get off the path._ So you do, weaving your way through the looming trees, unsure where you are going or what you are even running from anymore, your only knowledge being that you must have gone insane.

You must have. Because this can’t be real, a fucking _winter wonderland_ underneath a mountain? Can’t be real. Your ankle twists and you fall in the snow, feeling cold seep through your core and a scream of protest from your burnt shoulder. You push yourself up, ignoring the pain, and shuffle against a tree into a curled, defensive position, fully hyperventilating now. You start to feel a familiar deep chill in your hands, somehow different to the icy bite of the snow. You hold them up to your face, shaking, and watch water start to accumulate in your hands, beading on your fingers and rolling down into your palm. ‘What the fuck is going on.’ You sob, watching water start to stream through your fingers and onto your lap. You tip your head back against the tree trunk, taking great heaving breaths, ragged and raw.

Did you make this all up? All of it? Is this some terrible dream that you’ll wake up from only to find that you never ran from your dad in the first place, you’re still in France and he’s still hitting you and you never did anything about it, you never changed anything, oh god you never ran, oh god you’ve become your mother oh god oh _god you’re going to die and nothing is real and_

Something touches your elbow and you startle, lashing out by reflex in your jumpy state. Your hand strikes something solid and sends it flying backwards, and you jump at the sight of a small creature lying still on the ground a few metres from you. ‘Oh shit.’ You mumble. You can only assume it’s another monster, but it’s so different from Toriel. It almost looks like a tiny snowman, with a carved horn for a nose and an extremely large hat, both made of a sheeny blue ice. You let out a sharp breath, startled enough to have been thrown out of your downwards spiral of panic. You hesitantly reach out a hand, then pull it back as it starts to drip water into the snow. You get to your feet, eyes wide and fixed on the monster, who still hasn’t moved an inch.

_No,_ You think, _no no no, I’ve killed someone. They’re dead, and it’s my fault._

You back away from the body, too terrified to touch the dead monster, too exhausted to run, too panicked to think logically. You vaguely register a loud voice sounding out nearby and striding footsteps pacing towards you, but you don’t move. You can’t do anything but look at the monster. What you’ve done.

The voice gradually comes into earshot, enthusiastic and full of energy. It doesn’t belong in this scene. ‘WE CANNOT SLACK OFF OUR NIGHT DUTY, BROTHER! HUMANS CAN STRIKE WHENEVER, AND WE MUST BE READY TO CAPTURE THEM!’ A deeper, quieter voice says something in reply.

‘I’LL SEE YOU LATER, BROTHER! I’LL UNDOUBTEDLY HAVE CAPTURED A HUMAN BY THEN. ONE THAT’S NOT AS NICE AS FRISK.’ The striding footsteps come closer, and finally some of their words register with you. They want to capture you. You take one last look at the dead monster, taking a shaky breath, before turning on your heel and walking towards where you heard the voice, adrenaline pumping through your veins. As you approach, you take in a tall, thin skeleton in well-polished white battle armour, a proud scarlet scarf slung around his shoulders to form a cape. His grin is determined, excited even, and his eyes have an undeniable innocence to them. He hasn’t seen you yet- he’s looking in the other direction.

‘Hey.’ You say, but your voice is broken and quiet from crying and struggling to breathe. ‘ _Hey.’_ You repeat, making yourself heard this time, and his head turns quickly to take in your appearance.

‘WHY HELLO THERE, CITIZEN! I DON’T THINK WE’VE MET! I AM THE GREAT PAPYRUS. HOW CAN I HELP YOU?’ He can’t tell? You suppose that every monster you’ve seen so far looks so different, it’s not so surprising that he doesn’t see a difference.

‘I’m a human. Capture me.’ You say, voice brittle. He blinks, not fully understanding for a second.

‘YOU’RE… YOU’RE A HUMAN? YOU _WANT_ ME TO CAPTURE YOU? RIGHT NOW? BUT I HAVE SO MANY PUZZLES PLANNED! CAPTURING HUMANS IS AN ART!’

‘I killed someone.’ You whisper, voice thick with tears, and he ducks his head to catch your words on the wind.

‘I CAN’T HEAR YOU, HUMAN. IT IS A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT, TO BE SURE! NYEH HEH-’

_‘I killed someone.’_ You hiss, a tear rolling down your cheek. ‘It was an accident, but I still did it. Capture me.’ Papyrus’ face falls in sudden understanding, and he nods slowly.

‘I… RIGHT.’ He takes hold of your wrist, gingerly, gently, and you get another pang of guilt as you realize he’s noticed your burn and is trying not to hurt you. You don’t deserve that treatment. You’re a murderer.

‘I was just…’ You gulp back another sob. ‘I was panicking, and they were suddenly touching me and I just threw my arm out, and they were so still…’ More tears fall, and you close your eyes, letting him tug you along. It’s finally happened.

Your mother left you to your father when you were 16, the god damn coward, but you kept going. Your father used you, made you drop out of college to slave for him, punished you, but you kept living. Your boyfriend fucked you, spat abuse at you, hit you, but you kept running. Toriel lied to you, hurt you- even if it was an accident, you can’t forgive her, not now- but you kept surviving.

But this, _this_ is what ends your fighting spirit. You can’t keep running forever, you’ve always known that. You also know now that this isn’t in your head. It’s very, very real, and the fact that you have hurt someone is very, very real.

The knowledge that you have gone from victim to attacker is what breaks you.

 

After a long, tense walk in silence, you find the two of you are approaching a warmly-lit town, golden light from shop windows flooding across the snow. Wooden lodges with signs boldly proclaiming ‘SHOP’ and ‘INN’ greet you at the entrance of the town. You pass a library, and a restaurant that grants you a peek through the glass front at a bar teeming with monsters. Papyrus walks you past a large house and finally stops at a shabby shed next to it.

‘STAY IN HERE, HUMAN, IN THIS EXPERTLY MADE CAGE!’ He attempts to lighten the mood, but falters at your miserable expression. ‘LISTEN HUMAN, BETWEEN YOU AND ME, I AM SURE YOU FEEL TERRIBLY GUILTY… BUT IT WASN’T YOUR FAULT. IT REALLY WASN’T. IT WAS JUST AN ACCIDENT!’ He pats your head lightly with a nervous grin before opting to leave you be, releasing your wrist and walking out of the door. You wish you could believe him.

Not two seconds pass before there’s a knock at the door.

‘HUMAN! PLEASE REMEMBER TO LOCK THE DOOR, IT LOCKS FROM THE INSIDE, AND I WOULDN’T WANT YOU ESCAPING! NYEH!’ You can’t even bring yourself to question the logic. You twist to look at your shoulder, and see that it’s already starting to blister. Painful, but barely a second degree burn. A glance at your hand confirms that it’s stopped dripping water- you can’t even feel curious about that, what it means, how it started. You just feel numb. Listless, you lock the door, slip between the bars and lie down in the hay. A small part of your brain wonders what’s going to happen to you, but the rest focuses on the image of the monster’s lifeless body, half-buried in the snow, face turned away from you. 

Sleep doesn’t come easily that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> marie is a murderer, she is a murrrdererrrr *bangs hands on the table*  
> okay yeah cool so it's getting a little dark, a little angsty, we all holding up okay? anyone need a cup of tea? shortbread? no? well the option's still open just let me know  
> what are we all thinking about the water-hands business? i'm running out of words to describe the water tbh like there's only so many times you can say 'pooling' y'know? do you know?  
> as always, i am consistently present on my tumblr - chickaloho.tumblr.com
> 
> dot out


	5. accusations, invitations

You wake to the sound of voices outside the shed. Your body is curled into an uncomfortable position, shoulder prickling with hot pain, neck sore and stiff. You barely slept last night, kept awake by the ever-so-slightly distracting thoughts of ‘ _You’re a murderer.’_ Which was, to be fair, deserved. You let out a soft groan as the memories of yesterday flood back in full force, and feel the guilt in your chest start to set in. Sitting up and blinking away the sleep-dust built up around your lashes, you strain to listen to what the voices are saying.

One voice is clearly Papyrus, the exuberant tone unmistakable. The other, you don’t recognize, but you assume it’s the brother Papyrus was talking to yesterday. His voice is low and measured, which is why it surprises you when you hear how panicked his words are.

‘pap, she hurt someone. listen, i don’t give a shit how sorry she is at the moment. maybe, once we’ve got to know her, things could change, but right now we are not allowing her any mercy. we can’t let her loose on the town if there’s any chance she could hurt again.’

‘BUT BROTHER, IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!’

‘bro, i know you. i know you want the whole world to be as great and nice and cool as you are, but… tell me, how do you know she isn’t lying about that?’ Your heart aches at that question, but it’s not like it makes any difference, anyway. You still killed someone. It’s still your fault.

‘YOU DIDN’T SEE HER, SANS…’ Sans. That must be the brother’s name.

‘just play this one safe for me, alright? just for now, until i know her. not everyone is as nice as frisk.’ Papyrus is silent, then heaves a sigh.

‘I STILL NEED TO TAKE HER TO UNDYNE EVENTUALLY ANYWAY, BUT SHE JUST LOOKED SO SAD! …I WON’T LET HER OUT.’ Papyrus sighs a second time, then continues. ‘BUT IF YOU WANT TO GET TO KNOW HER, WE SHOULD INVITE HER TO LUNCH! I’LL COOK SOME OF MY GREAT SPAGHETTI, AND YOU CAN SEE FOR YOURSELF HOW UPSET SHE IS!’ Sans is silent. A few small thuds tells you that he’s kicking his foot against the shed wall, thinking it over.

‘i guess i’d be able to keep an eye on her. alright. invite her over for lunch.’ You groan inwardly. Lunch? They’re treating you like a guest of honour, don’t they get you killed a monster? You deserve to be locked up and to never see the light of day again.

Papyrus lets out a triumphant ‘NYEH!’ and you hear two sets of footsteps, one walking away from the shed, and one walking closer to the door. An enthusiastic knock tells you it’s Papyrus.

You heave yourself into a standing position, ignoring the pain from moving your shoulder, and unlock the door with a small nod of greeting. ‘Hi, Papyrus.’

‘HUMAN! I HAVE THREE TREMENDOUS PIECES OF NEWS! FIRST! I BRING BREAKFAST!’ He sets down a bowl of what looks like dog food and chopped up sausages. You struggle not to raise an eyebrow. After everything, this shouldn’t surprise you.

‘SECOND! YOU ARE INVITED OVER FOR A WONDERFUL SPAGHETTI LUNCH!’ You nod, donning a fake smile, wanting to do anything but be treated to a meal. The hell is wrong with these people, thinking you deserve their kindness?

‘THIRD AND FINALLY, WE FOUND THE MONSTER IN THE WOODS YESTERDAY.’ You look at him, suddenly alert. They found the corpse. You think you might vomit. Are you going to have to see it again? Because if you have to do that you don’t think you’ll be able to hold onto your sanity.  
‘POOR LITTLE GUY WAS WANDERING AROUND, SO CONFUSED! HE KNOCKED HIS HEAD A LITTLE.’ You freeze.

‘Wh… What?’

‘HE JUST KNOCKED HIMSELF OUT COLD ON HIS OWN CAP! NOT DEAD.’ Papyrus points at you with one gloved hand. ‘AND NOT GUILTY.’

‘I’m… not a murderer?’

‘NOPE!’ Papyrus grins genuinely, hands on hips.

‘Oh my god.’ You say, pressing a hand to your mouth, weight lifting off your shoulders in mountains. ‘Oh god, Papyrus, I thought I’d really hurt him.’

‘WELL, YOU DIDN’T!’ He chirps, patting your shoulders. ‘IT’S LUNCHTIME PRETTY SOON, SO DON’T EAT TOO MUCH DELICIOUS BREAKFAST!’ With that, he marches out of the room, and you’re left on your own once more.

‘Fuck.’ You whisper to yourself, barely able to believe it, backing up against the wall and sliding down it, taking a deep breath. The relief that washes over you is better than any drug. You’re not a murderer. _You’re not a murderer._

Your elation is interrupted by the familiar cold chill in your hands, and you jerk them up to see water dripping. It seems different, this time. Although your hands feel cold, the water spilling from your hands is warm. Even with this new development, you’re starting to get over how weird it is, and now you’re just curious. Could it… possibly be magic? Toriel did mention humans wielding magic, but how were you supposed to know what she said was true?

You wince a little as you realize you’d done almost exactly the same as her- hurt someone accidentally in a moment of blind panic. You try to assure yourself that’s it’s different, that she lied to you and tried to keep you from ever leaving her home; but in hindsight, you feel pretty awful about the way you reacted. She’d shown you nothing but kindness, and the children’s shoes could have a perfectly logical explanation. The image of her running after you, crying, flashes through your head and you grimace, electing to fumble at the elastic around your hair with wet fingers. It pings apart without warning and your curls tumble out of the braid she plaited so neatly. You turn your focus back to your hands.

You wonder if you have any control over it. So far you’ve only started… leaking? Jesus, that’s a word and a half for it. You almost laugh to yourself, unable to decide whether it’s better or worse than _secreting_. You’ve only started to leak water when you’ve been in really strong emotion so far, fear from the box of shoes, panic in the forest, and now overwhelming relief: that could indicate that when you’re able to concentrate, you should be able to control it.

The water’s starting to drip onto your thighs, so you hold your hands over the bowl of breakfast instead. Not that you’d call hot dogs and kibble breakfast.

Directing your gaze towards your palms, watching the water streaming through your fingers, you concentrate on trying to stop it. Nothing happens.

You huff an impatient sigh, shuffling to get comfortable and re-focusing on your hands. _Stop, stop, stop._ You think, closing your eyes and willing it with your mind.  
All at once, the bone-deep chill dissipates, and you open your eyes wide with delight as you turn your hands over, letting the remaining water tip out onto the ground. You _can_ stop it.

Now that that’s been cleared up, you’re curious to know if you can _start_ the water. Wiping your palms on your leggings- ignoring a twinge of guilt at the thought of Toriel pouring her heart and soul into every stitch- you hold your hands out again and close your eyes, willing the water to come again. Opening one eye hopefully, you’re frustrated at the sight of your dryer-than-ever palms. You’ve never been very patient, but push down the irritation, taking a deep breath and shut your eyes again. _Come on. Please, please, come on._

Nothing.

‘Damn it!’ You say, resisting the urge to stomp a foot. Folding your arms over your chest and pacing a little, you think it over. It must be magic, surely, because how else can you explain it? Not that crazy, after everything that’s happened. You surely must be able to control its coming if you can control its leaving; it’s probably just a knack that you haven’t quite nailed yet. _Practice makes perfect_ , you decide, and as you’re holding your hands out getting ready to start again, Papyrus bursts through the door, making you jump out of your skin.

‘HUMAN! SPAGHETTI IS READY. WHAT ARE YOU DOING? THE MACARENA?’ You snort out a laugh before you can stop yourself. How does someone who’s literally living under a rock know about the Macarena?

‘Sure, Papyrus. The Macarena.’

‘WELL, I WOULD NORMALLY JOIN YOU BUT THIS IS A MATTER OF URGENCY! I MUST ESCORT YOU TO A WONDERFUL LUNCHEON WITH MYSELF, MY BROTHER SANS AND OUR BEST FRIEND, FRISK!’ You nod, sobering up a little. From what you heard this morning, Sans doesn’t trust you one bit, and you can’t really blame him. Papyrus walks you out of the door and to the large house on the right, which you had already assumed was his. At the front door, he pauses, then looks at you.

‘MY BROTHER DOESN’T TRUST YOU, YET, BECAUSE HE IS SCARED.’ He admits, looking a little conflicted at whether this is betraying his brother’s trust. ‘BUT HE IS NOT UNREASONABLE! HE DOES NOT HATE HUMANS, UNLIKE MANY.’ …Many? You don’t know if you should feel relieved or more scared. ‘IF HE KNOWS YOU’RE NOT GOING TO HURT ANY OF US, HE’LL LIKE YOU, I’M SURE OF IT!’ You nod, smiling nervously up at him.

‘Well, I’m not going to do that. Hell, that’s the only thing I’m sure of anymore.’ Papyrus grins widely, satisfied with your response, and pushes open the front door, guiding you inside with a hand between your shoulder blades.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoop de doop here we go she's gonna meet sans and they're totally gonna fall in love right? right? well i mean that is the end goal but pshh this is a slow burn people calm yourselves!!  
> i don't like it when my chapter is all split up into weeny little separate lines, i like me some good wholesome paragraphs, but this chapter isn't very wholesome at all. ah well, i tried.  
> hope you're all in good shape, if you are come celebrate on my tumblr!  
> if you're not come be comforted on my tumblr!  
> either way come see me - chickaloho.tumblr.com
> 
> i love all of you dolls deeply  
> -dot


	6. first impressions, pasta puns

Your eyes dart around the brightly lit house, but there’s no angry brother to be seen. Letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding, you take in your surroundings. It’s a mess of clashing colours, a lime-green couch to your left, a purple and blue zigzag pattern carpet beneath your feet, ahead of you an orange and brown checkered kitchen. You squint a little; it’s so vibrant it’s a little jarring- but as you get used to it, it’s kind of sweet. You realize that it matches Papyrus’ personality to a T.

‘PLEASE, SIT DOWN, HUMAN! CAN I OFFER YOU A DRINK?’ You settle yourself down on the green couch, heart rate speeding up a little. It feels oddly similar to that time you went for a job interview at your local bookstore- except you’re under a mountain. In a monster’s house. About to eat his spaghetti.

So maybe not that similar.

‘Just water, please.’ You say, tucking your knees up to your chin and hugging them. It’s a habit you’ve had since you were a little girl, curling up into a little ball whenever you’re sat down: your mum used to call you hedgehog. You smile sadly at the memory.

Papyrus hands you a glass of water with an excited grin, before frowning. ‘OH, HUMAN! I FORGOT ABOUT YOUR ARM. WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO LOOK AT THAT BURN?’ You glance at the shiny red mark, hot hardened skin hinting at infection.

‘You can heal, Papyrus?’

‘I CAN INDEED!’ He sits next to you and lets his hand hover over the wound, and the familiar buzz of magic offers instant relief. You let out a quiet sigh, appeased, as Papyrus works.

‘THERE!’ He crows happily. You twist- incredulous at how little time that took- but sure enough the skin is sealed over and back to its normal dark brown colour.

‘Thank you!’ You squeal, unable to refrain from poking it. He laughs modestly before retreating back to the kitchen to deal with a steaming pot of pasta.

‘So, when’s your brother gonna get he-’ The door slams open, and another skeleton walks in with a child on his shoulders. The skeleton, who you can only assume is Sans, is stocky and short- a clear contrast to his brother. He’s looking up at the kid, donning a wide grin beneath two black eyesockets, two white pinpricks of light making up for the lack of pupils. They’re currently bright and glinting as his shoulders shake with great, wheezing laughter- he looks so happy. Doesn’t match up with the worried voice you heard this morning at all. Then he looks down and meets your eye and oh god, you want to sink into the floor because Sans’ whole expression and body language changes. His eyes narrow, the pinpricks of light growing dull and his sharp teeth curving into an uncertain frown. He gently takes the kid, who you assume is Frisk, off his shoulders and puts them on the floor, and they run to greet Papyrus in the kitchen, briefly looking over their shoulder back at you. You feel like you’re going to have a bad time- and you have literally no idea how to react other than sweat profusely.

‘so you’re the human.’ He states the obvious, shoving his bony hands deep into the pockets of a blue hoodie. You nod quickly, getting to your feet to try and feel a little less like a child getting a scolding. He looks you up and down, expression unreadable. ‘the human that likes to hurt monsters.’ He says, looking you directly in the eyes. You look away, and shake your head.

‘I don’t…’ You clear your throat. ‘I don’t _like_ to hurt anything.’ You say, voice unsteady. It’s a true statement, but all the guilt you’d pushed away at the news that the monster was still alive was coming back in waves anyway. It still could have died, and both you and Sans know it. Sans looks at you a while longer, and you finally meet his gaze. He sighs.

‘well, i wish i could believe you, buddy, i really do, but i need proof of that. you know?’ You nod, swallowing.

‘I could be lying, it’s fair enough.’ You mumble, and he raises his eyebrows before nodding, although even that answer seems to have appeased him a little.

‘you got it. what’s your name?’

‘It’s Marie.’ You flash an automatic smile, then wince. ‘Sorry, smiling… inappropriate.’ He raises his eyebrows again, and you could swear he’s holding back a laugh, but instead his expression closes off again.

‘yeah, a little.’ With that, Sans walks off to see his brother, and you have no choice but to follow, putting your glass on the table and awkwardly leaning against it, heart pounding.

‘LUNCH WILL BE READY IN TWO TICKS!’ Papyrus exclaims, then turns as Sans taps him on the shoulder. As they talk, the kid comes running over to you.

‘Oh! Hey, are you Frisk?’ You ask, feeling a little more at home with a kid. They nod with a bright smile, and start to sign rapidly. You try and focus on what they’re saying, remembering ASL from the lessons you had a few years ago.

‘Oh, shoot, I’m sorry, but could you slow down? I’m kinda rusty.’ You smile nervously, and sign quickly, _My name is Marie._

Frisk’s grin widens even further, as if they were testing you and are surprised you even know ASL at all, and slows their hands right down.

**Hey Marie! Sorry if Sans is being a butthead.**

You snort with surprised laughter at the comment, before covering your mouth in embarrassment and glancing up at the skele-bros. Papyrus’ back is turned to you as he serves pasta up into four bowls, chatting away to his brother, but Sans glances at the two of you, expression softening almost imperceptibly. You look back down at Frisk, who’s laughing too.

_Kid, you’re hilarious. But don’t worry, I deserve it._ Your hands are a little more certain as the symbols fall into place in your head, muscle memory kicking in.

**Sans calls me kid, too! And no you don’t, it wasn’t your fault.** That gives you pause.

_You know what I did?_

**Sure, Sans told me while we were out. It was an accident!** You smile down at Frisk gratefully. Sure, you’re getting validation from a kid, but you need all the validation you can get at this point.

_It was an accident, but it was still my fault._ Frisk shakes their head impatiently, but you change the subject. _Do Papyrus and Sans know ASL?_ Frisk shakes their head again.

**Sometimes I have to use a notepad and pen with them, but they usually get what I’m talking about without it.**

_Hey, that means we have our own secret language. Pretty cool._ You wink, and Frisk laughs out loud.

**You even wink, too! You’re just like Uncle Sans!** You raise an eyebrow at Frisk as Papyrus sets the bowls down on the table, and Frisk points at you, face full of glee, expression screaming ‘You’re proving my point!’

You giggle, and sit back in the chair Papyrus draws up for you. You’re feeling a lot more relaxed, and even when you look up to see Sans sitting directly opposite you, you feel like it’s a challenge you can handle. ‘Uncle Sans’ is a lot less scary than the threatening judge he was playing a few minutes ago. For the first time since running from Johnny’s flat, you’re starting to feel confident in yourself again, like you’re in control. You deserve to be trusted, you know you do. You’re going to prove yourself to Sans if it kills you. Looking at his sharp teeth and stand-offish expression, you wince a little. It just might.

You pick up your fork and twirl a huge pile of spaghetti round it, realizing how starving you are; you haven’t eaten since that single slice of pie at Toriel’s- and Frisk kicks your leg in warning. Your fork halfway to your mouth, you glance at them, and they sign, trying not to laugh,

**It’s the worst thing you’ll ever taste.**

You chuckle, figuring they’re exaggerating, and shovel the entire forkful entire your mouth.

You almost choke. The sauce is saltier than the entire pacific ocean, tasting more like rusty metal than tomatoes, and the spaghetti, sticky and limp, is so over-cooked it’s like rubber. Noticing Papyrus is waiting to see your reaction, you give him an thumbs up, trying to stop your face from scrunching up in disgust. Frisk explodes into giggles, and you shoot them a death glare as they sign,

**Told you so!**

_I thought you were joking! It tastes like death!_ You look back at Papyrus and swallow, managing a smile, your eyes watering a little. That was fucking disgusting, but the cinnamon roll is beaming.

‘YOU LIKE IT, HUMAN?’ You manage a grin, and try not to sound sarcastic.

‘It’s the best!’

Frisk starts into another round of sniggers, and Sans pipes up,

‘hey, it’s im-pasta-ble not to like your spaghetti, bro.’ As Papyrus groans and stuffs a huge mouthful of spaghetti into his skull, you look at him and smile nervously. He returns it cautiously, which boosts your confidence a little.

‘So you’re a pun-ner.’ You tease boldly, taking a sip of your water to wash the terrible aftertaste out.

‘problem?’ Sans asks, but there’s a light-hearted tone that wasn’t there before.

‘None at all, none at all.’ You assure him, holding your hands up, grinning. ‘Besides, I think I’m… _past_ -a passing judgment.’ Sans snorts into his spaghetti despite himself, and the two of you instantly look at Papyrus to gauge his reaction. He’s looking at you, distraught.

‘BETRAYAL, HUMAN! UTTER BETRAYAL.’ Frisk pats his shoulder silently in mock-sympathy, a mischievous grin lighting up their face. You watch them, laughing, but Sans doesn’t join in. Instead he’s watching you, analyzing your every move. Would you laugh at their jokes, come back with your own, if you were lying? Waiting for his guard to fall, just so you could strike? He fidgets with his fork, frowning a little. His brushes with Frisk’s… less than peaceful runs have made him well-acquainted with good liars. Sudden betrayal, changes of heart, plot twists in the game they like to play that just so happens to be his life. Sans shakes his skull a little- they’re past that now. He needs to let it go- but he also needs to be careful.

When Papyrus has slurped up the last of his spaghetti, and Sans and Frisk’s plates are somehow clear- even though you haven’t actually seen them eat a thing- you offer to clear the table. Papyrus smiles approvingly.

‘THANK YOU, HU- MARIE!’ You smile to yourself, not missing his effort to call you by your name, and pick up the three empty bowls, stacking them under your mostly-full one. ‘It’s no problem!’ You say, putting them down by the sink. Frisk tugs Papyrus’ scarf and nods towards the stairs.

‘OF COURSE I WILL PLAY ACTION FIGURES WITH YOU, FRISK!’ Papyrus exclaims. Huh. Big scary (although not really) monster likes action figures. You guess you should have seen that coming. The two scamper up the stairs, and Sans kicks his chair under the table. He looks at you warily, as if deciding something, then clears his throat.

‘so, i appreciate your humoring my bro, but i think we both know that spaghetti is… a work in progress.’ You smile wryly at the floor; Papyrus tries, bless him, and who are you to get in the way of his pasta-related hobbies?

‘It wasn’t… so bad…?’ You venture, trying to keep a straight face. Sans grins and shoves his hands in his pockets, then removes them with a wince at a squelching sound. As he pulls them out, you spy a limp noodle hanging off one of his phalanges. ‘Oh my god, that’s where your spaghetti went!’ You gasp, pointing accusatorially. ‘You and Frisk let me suffer through three whole mouthfuls!’ He bursts out laughing at your indignation.

‘thought it wasn’t so bad?’ He quips, and for a moment his expression is friendly and open- then it’s gone. You inwardly sigh a little- but at least it’s a start.

‘anyway, i was gonna ask if you wanted to come grab a real bite to eat with me and frisk now. s’usually the routine after we get the spaghetti treatment.’ You look at him, surprised. Is this another test? Probably. You smile thankfully anyway- right now, you’d take a plate of decent food over a lottery win.

‘That sounds great.’

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayy i just got back from after prom, we camped out
> 
> i feel like microwaved garbage
> 
> serenade me on tumblr - chickaloho.tumblr.com
> 
> big love and mushy kisses (or a high five for you personal space lovers)  
> -dot


	7. junk food, disbelief

You keep your head down when you walk through Snowdin, a crawling voice in your head assuring you that someone is going to recognise you as the human who almost killed Ice Cap- but no one does. You’re greeted with warm smiles and waves, which- along with the feel of Frisk’s small hand in yours- is immensely reassuring.

Sans remains silent, watchful, any friendliness he offered at dinner snatched back up again. You glance at him from the corner of your eye.

Confident he can’t tell you’re looking, you take in his appearance properly for the first time. His toothy grin is curled into a slight grimace, eyesockets furrowed a little. The matte white bone of his skull is malleable and, impossibly, moves like clay to suit his expressions. You remind yourself he’s not a real human skeleton, just a monster that looks like one. His eyesockets are less empty than you thought they were, a dark navy, lit by white spots of light. Where they were bright and shining before- when he was laughing and had forgotten that he was meant to be cautious around you- they were now dull, almost grey.

‘take a picture, it lasts longer.’ You almost jump out of your skin at the sudden break in silence, spluttering with excuses.

‘I… I? I was just… I wasn’t-!’ He laughs a little as you fumble to find your tact.

‘not the smoothest, are you?’ You shake your head and blush as Frisk takes their hand from yours to sign

**Sans, stop being grumpy!**

Sans raises an eyebrow.

‘kid, you know i only know how to say ‘how are you’ in sign.’ Frisk’s face falls a little. They’d clearly forgotten after talking so easily with you that they were still difficult to understand for some.

‘They’re saying to stop being grumpy.’ You say, then grin at Sans’ mock-hurt expression.

‘me? grumpy? think you’ve got the wrong guy. i’m a skele- _ton_ of laughs.’

You groan. ‘I get the feeling you make a lot of skeleton puns.’

Frisks hands fly into action, giggling. **You have no idea.**

Sans’ grin has become wolfish. ‘Well, I know it makes me look like a _numbskull,_ but I find them _humerus_ , _tibia_ honest.’

**Stop.**

‘They’re pretty _rib-tickling._ In fact, they tickle my _funny bone._ ’ Frisk groans as you dissolve into giggles.

‘Oh, my god.’ You snort. ‘Got it out your system?’ He shrugs with a smug grin.

‘eh. for now.’ Frisk stops suddenly, and you realize you’re at the bar you noticed last night- Grillby’s. They hold the door open for you with a grand, sweeping bow. Holding in your laughter you curtsy, and step inside. Sans follows close behind you, ever-present, tenser than before- probably because there’s so many monsters here. Frisk runs off immediately to greet a crowd of armored dogs, while you try not to gape at the massive variety of monsters- it’s hardly a surprise no one’s caught on that you’re a human with this much diversity in appearance. It’s probably for the best- you can hardly imagine that they’d particularly appreciate the species that trapped them under a mountain for centuries. Sans guides you to a pair of free bar stools, to a chorus of enthusiastic greetings.

 _Someone’s popular,_ you think, sliding onto the stool. Sans knocks on the bar with two bony knuckles, and a bartender pushes through a back door. You manage to keep your jaw from dropping. The bartender is literally made of fire, glasses perched where his nose would normally be, dapper tuxedo somehow not burnt to a crisp. A snort of laughter from Sans tells you that your shock shows. You shake it off and smile nervously, reminding yourself that if you dealt with a walking-talking skeleton- two of them, in fact- you can deal with someone who’s literally on fire all the time.

‘two orders of burg, Grillby. and…?’ he looks at you, and you fumble for words.

‘Oh! Shit. Um. Do you have a menu- no, don’t answer that, that was stupid- could I just… could I just get the same? Uh, please.’ You trail off, eyes fixed on your lap, cheeks glowing. You can hear Sans snorting beside you. Grillby lets out a hissing sound which you’re assuming is laughter, before walking away. You bury your head in your arms on the bar, letting out a groan. ‘God, I suck.’ Sans let out another quiet huff of laughter, before nudging you gently.

‘nah, it’s cool. not everyday you see someone that _hot_ , i’m guessing.’ You raise your head a little to give him a classic side-eye, before resting your chin on your forearms, eyes a little glazed over. Sans clears his throat. ‘so, tell me a little about yourself, kid.’ You smile ruefully.

‘Not much to tell.’ He leans back in his chair, folding his arms. _Oh._ He wants to know you so he can make sure you’re not planning on _murdering_ anyone. Sure, sure.

‘Well, I’m 18, going on 19. I like hot bread and butter, and summer, and tea, not coffee. I hate coffee. Blue is my favourite colour.’ Sans’ grin widens a little, but you don’t pause to wonder why. ‘I like maths, but couldn’t…’ 

_Your mama’s gone, you work for me now. You drop any thought of going to that whore school. All you’re good for is cooking my meals, and cleaning my floors._

You shake your dad’s voice out of your head- Sans’ gaze is flickering over your face, trying to read it. ‘I couldn’t go to college.’ You say in a low voice, saddened at the thought of the scholarship you missed out on, then clear your throat. ‘I like the sea. My mama used to take me out to the beach every day after school, and I’d swim like a little fish.’ You smile at the memory, rubbing the space around your finger where the ring she gave you usually rested. You’d had to cash it in to get money for the ferry tickets when you ran from your dad.

‘the sea, huh.’ Sans says, taking a sip from—a bottle of ketchup. What.

‘Wait, hold up. Are you drinking that shit?’ Your incredulous expression makes him laugh.

‘sure am. mind refraining from saying shit around the kiddo?’

‘Shit, my bad. Oh! Shoot, I did it again. Sorry, sorry! Okay. So I guess I can get drinking some sauces, but ketchup?! That’s really your sauce of choice?’

‘well what do you suggest then?’ He asks, taking a big gulp of the ketchup just to gauge your reaction, and looks almost disappointed when you keep your expression deadpan.

‘Jheeze, I dunno. Salsa maybe. Something with a kick, not just fake tomatoes and sugar.’ Sans snorts, eyes briefly flicking to look you up and down.

‘tastes good, so i drink it. simple as, you should try it.’

‘I’m good.’ You wrinkle your nose, turning as Grillby emerges from the kitchen with three baskets, each filled with a mountain of fries with a steaming burger on top. Your hollow stomach rumbles loudly, and you giggle, self-conscious.

Frisk comes bounding up as the order arrives, only to give you both a thumbs up and carry it over to the crowd of canines at another table.

‘heh. that kid.’

‘Yeah, I was meaning to ask. How’s a human kid end up living under a mountain with you and Papyrus?’ Sans stiffens a little at your comfortable tone, and you grimace. Shit, you thought you were getting somewhere. After a tense second, he answers.

‘they fell down here maybe a year ago. small, scared, determined- they were seven, you get the gist. they went through the underground making friends with everyone, never hurting anyone even when the monster was tryna kill them.’ You wince but don’t say anything. ‘anyway, i got the idea that this kid didn’t exactly have a lot to go back to up there.’ He pauses briefly, features furrowed into a troubled frown. ‘i had a chat with them, ‘fore they went to fight asgore.’

‘Asgore…?’ Sans looks up, and his features fall into sudden realization.

‘you don’t know.’ You raise an eyebrow, taking a bite out of your burger and resisting the urge to moan in relief at the feeling of food sliding down your throat. Frisk returns from the dogs with a half-empty basket and a wide smile, sliding into a bar seat next to you. Sans hesitates.

‘there’s a barrier over the mountain.’ So Toriel _wasn’t_ lying. An unbreakable barrier. Frisk looks up sharply, putting their burger down.

‘it requires the power of… of a human soul, and a monster soul. your own, and… another monster’s... to pass through the barrier. and to break it? you'd need the power of seven human souls.’

‘Souls? Like, the metaphorical, spiritual-’

‘no. like an actual soul that everyone has. no metaphor. fact.’ You frown, chewing.

‘How’d you know? Can you see them? What do they look like?’

‘different for everyone. but they’re heart-shaped, like the cartoon hearts. anyway, that’s not important- the only thing you need to know about souls right now is that to leave the underground you need a monster’s. you’d have to kill. _or_ , you'd have to die and give us your soul. we're one short.’ Sans spits the last sentence bitterly, and cold horror worms its way into your heart. These monsters- these sweet, friendly people you'd met- they'd killed six humans? But the way Sans said it- he's clearly not a fan of that particular fact; especially considering he's basically raising Frisk. Maybe not every monster wants to kill you. But if they knew you were a human, how many of them in this room would want you dead?  
Setting that aside, even if none of them wanted to murder you, you still can't leave. Your only options are to die or to stay down here forever.

Frisk and Sans eat in silence for a few minutes while you stare at the wall, processing.

You can’t leave. Ever. Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_.

‘I’m… I’m stuck here?’ You say, feeling your heart speed up. ‘For real? She wasn’t lying?’

‘who wasn’t lying? kid, you’re lookin’ a little… peaky.’

‘Oh god it’s true. I’m stuck here. Under a fucking mountain.’ Any moment now the ceiling will cave in, thousands of tonnes of rock will land-

‘kid, language-’

-on your ribcage, pressing down until each bone snaps, piercing your lungs and bursting your heart- ‘Fuck, we’re running out of oxygen _right. Now._ Oh my god, I can’t breathe in this fucking-’ Sans suddenly grabs you by the arm and starts to drag you out of the restaurant, a scared-looking Frisk scampering behind. You focus on your breathing, keeping it calm, but the air feels so stale and thick and musky, you can’t keep a regular pattern. All you can think about is how little air there is, and how selfish you’re being because you’re taking it all up. Freezing water starts to drip from your hands- through the panic, a dull observation surfaces- _the water's cold again_.

A sudden rush of cold air shocks your system as Sans pulls you out of the door, and you make another grapple at getting your breathing under control.

‘Sans, please, I'm gonna die, I can't-’

‘look, i know it’s stressful that i’m watching your every move, but i’m watching you because you hurt someone. because i don’t know you and therefore you’re unpredictable and could hurt my brother. could hurt anyone.’ Frisk is tugging at Sans’ sleeve but he shakes them off roughly. ‘stop tryna play the sympathy card. i see straight through it.’ You blink, chest heaving, a fist squeezing around your heart. You can’t deal with this right now, not when you’re dying, not when an entire mountain is pressing down on your every heartbeat.

‘What?’ You manage, heart jittery and unsure of itself.

‘look, i’ve met humans before. not just frisk. others. i’m not stupid. i know frisk is an exception, so please, just…’ He runs a skeletal hand over the back of his skull, walking quickly towards the house. You have to almost jog to keep up, which only makes your lungs scream louder for air. Frisk grabs onto your hand and holds it tightly, little face set in a frown, but mouth tightly shut. You resist the reflexive urge to snatch your hand away, and try to take comfort from it.

‘just don’t try and play the victim so i’ll forgive you for hurting that ice cap. okay? i’ve fallen for it before, fool me once, i‘m sure you know the drill.’

You swallow and exhale sharply, suppressing the urge to scream, run, cry, anything to gain some control.

‘Sans, I’m not-’ He stops abruptly- you’re at the shed. You bite back your defense and take the hint, stepping inside. You glance back at Frisk and they look furious- at Sans, not you. Their hands move quickly-

**It’ll be fine. It’s not you, it’s stuff from the past.**

You give a small nod; go to look at Sans but the door is already slamming shut. The sound makes you jump and you let out a small sob, clasping your hands to your mouth.

What the fuck was that? You panicked a little, sure, you know it’s pathetic. But to think you’re making it up? You thrust your hands into your hair and ball them into fists, grabbing hold of two big hunks; stare at the wall as your heart rate quickens. Gradually you back against the wall, hands still in your hair, and slide down it to the floor. Sans thinks you’re pretending to panic. Pretending to be scared, _pretending_ not to be a threat. Your fear boils into anger and you curl your lip. You pull your knees up to your chest and wrap your arms around them, pulse loud in the back of your throat.

You sit there, sulking, for what seems like forever. You barely even notice your shoulders slump and eyes grow heavy as the hours tick by, until sleep comes all at once and snatches you up in its jaws.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wassup my darlin' my honeybun
> 
> okay so a couple things-
> 
> one. i finally got some beta readers! you should totally follow them here!  
> thegreatwordologist.tumblr.com  
> queendubstep.tumblr.com
> 
> two. i got meself an update schedule!  
> i'm gonna update every tuesday, thursday and saturday, clear your diaries!~
> 
> that's pretty much it, except last night i ate an entire family bag of doritos in 20 minutes. low moment, guys. low moment.  
> follow mee - chickaloho.tumblr.com  
> -dot


	8. bad dreams, sad team

_There’s a hand around your throat. Your vision blurs into focus and you see your father’s face scrunched with hatred, one fist pushed up against your nose, the other holding you by your neck to the wall._

_‘Fucking bitch, think you could run? I’m right here. I’ve been right here the whole time.’ You fight for breath as the fist pushes further against the cartilage of your nose, then pulls back swiftly and swings towards your eye: pain explodes across your cheekbone and the bridge of your nose. You scream as his face starts to morph, from your father, to Johnny, and then to your mother._

_She whispers ‘You have things to do, my darling.’ and disappears, replaced by a huge, mutating black mouth. It opens to reveal yellow fangs linked by a string of saliva and it lets out a horrific roar, its breath making you gag, the noise reverberating through your chest. The roar turns into words._

_‘YOU CAN’T EVER ESCAPE.’_  

You wake with a shrill cry of alarm, scrabbling at your chest where your heart is racing. The words of the creature echo round your brain and you stumble to your feet, breathing heavily. Your arms and back are drenched with sweat and your hands are spurting water at an impressive rate. You open the door of the shed and stand in the cold for a while, letting water drip into the snow, creating a pretty pattern. You sit down on the step after a second, cradling your hands to your chest and willing the water to stop, just like you did before. The water dwindles and disappears, and a small burst of victory interrupts the beating of your heart in your chest before you lean against the shed door, closing your eyes. That nightmare was a pretty bad one, but nothing you hadn’t seen before- and certainly not the worst you’d had. You slide your fingers into the snow at your feet, eyes still closed, and enjoy the rush of cold, holding onto it like a lifeline. You are here. This is reality. It’s a fucking crazy reality, but it’s reality all the same.

‘hey.’ Your eyes flick open at the sound of Sans’ voice.

‘Fuck, you scared me.’

‘budge up, will ya?’ You grumble a little but move along, leaving enough room on the step for Sans to settle in beside you. ‘heh, thought you were gonna leave me in the _cold_ for a second.’ You ignore the joke.

‘I wasn’t pretending, earlier.’

‘yeah, i know.’ You scrunch your nose at his words, head snapping round to look at him. He knows? ‘you have a nightmare?’ You hesitate, frowning at him, but let him change the subject for now.

‘Sure did. Great fun.’ You lean your head on your knees.

‘i get ‘em too.’ You nod sadly, pressing your lips into a thin line. Your anger at him from earlier has dissipated with the bad dream, and all you can feel now is resignation, towards him being angry at you, towards the fact you’re trapped.

‘look, i came to say sorry.’ You raise an eyebrow, looking at him properly. His face is closed off, eyes dulled- you wonder if he came of his own accord, or if Frisk had something to do with this- but you suppose it doesn’t really matter. ‘i was being pretty shitty.’

You nod slowly, then look away. ‘S’okay.’ Sans’ jaw shifts a little and he swallows.

‘listen, i panicked. i don’t know you, and all i saw was you getting emotional and worked up and shouting swear words and i thought it’d be best if i… diffused the situation?’

‘Mm.’

‘i just have a bad experience with humans- particularly one human, who liked to…’ He lets out a sigh. ‘eh, let’s just say she looked like an innocent little kid, but she knew how to toy with a guy’s sympathy.’

‘I’m sorry, that’s shit.’ He snorts quietly.

‘you sure swear a lot, huh.’

‘Yeah, I meant to say sorry about that. Swearing in front of Frisk. I was just, not very in control. Y’know?’

‘sure. it’s fine, they’re smart, they know all the swears anyway.’ You let out a huff of laughter at that, leaning against the door and looking at him. He looks at you for the first time, and his eyes are a little brighter.

‘you wanna talk about your bad dream?’

‘Eh. It was about my… dad.’ Sans raises his eyebrows, but you aren’t planning on giving him- or anyone- any details about _that_ mess. ‘Nothing special.’ Sans shifts his position to face you. You do the same, the two of you cross-legged, opposite each other, both squeezed close on the front step.

‘i had one too.’

‘You did?’ You scoop up a handful of snow and start pressing it into a snowball absentmindedly.

‘sure. they suck, huh.’ You smirk, and throw the snowball into the trees a few metres away.

‘That’s one way of putting it.’

‘well, i’m sure your way would be fuckity fuck fuck fucking awful.’ You burst out laughing, surprised, and look at him to find him smiling.

‘Look, I swear a lot, okay? Get over it!’

‘i’m over it, i’m over it.’ You bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing again, suddenly sleepy.

‘Well…’ You pull yourself to your feet. ‘Good talk, team, but I’m tired.’ Raising your arms above your head and stretching, you freeze in the sudden realization that your shirt has ridden up to the bottom of your ribcage. You slam your arms back down to your sides, making your shirt fall back over the bruises around your hips and stomach. You try to read Sans’ face, to check if he noticed. His face is careless, and he reaches one bony hand up to you. ‘give a pal a hand?’

You breathe a sigh of relief and take it, pulling him to his feet. No need to land that emotional baggage on him- or anyone.

‘Night Sans. Thanks… for saying sorry.’ He nods.

‘hope ya feel better. after the nightmare ’n all.’ You smile and push through the door into the shed, locking it behind you just to make Papyrus happy.

The nightmare doesn’t return that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooooohhhhh who lives in a pineapple under the sea
> 
> what's up nerds, it's chapter 8!  
> honestly your kudos and comments are the cutest ever i want to give each and every one of you a homemade, freshly-baked cupcake. but i'll settle for a new chapter, yeah?  
> follow the lovely queendubstep.tumblr.com  
> and heeere's my tumblr, do with it what you will- chickaloho.tumblr.com  
> this is kind of short i'm sorry, but i'll do loads of writing this weekend to make up for it!
> 
> love you all dearly!  
> -dot


	9. spilt tears, spilt milk

‘Hey, Papyrus?’ You call from the sitting room, as Frisk shows you their card with a shark grin on their face. ‘Dangit, kid, you win again!’ Frisk bursts into giggles as Papyrus strolls from the kitchen.

‘YOU CALLED, HU- MARIE?’

‘Sure did. I was wondering if tonight I could make dinner? Seeing as you made that… delicious… lunch,’ you give a convincing smile, trying not to grimace at the thought of the slimy, salty noodles sat in your stomach.

‘THAT WOULD BE WONDERFUL, HUMAN! WE CAN SHARE RECIPES AFTERWARDS!’ You nod, grinning, watching him march back into the kitchen, before turning back to Frisk. They’re doing a little victory dance. You can’t tell whether it’s because they won your card game, or because they won’t have to eat spaghetti tonight. Either way, it’s adorable.

‘C’mere, kid!’ You grab them by the armpits and pull them to the floor, tickling their ribs. They squeal and wriggle under your fingers, chortling uncontrollably. Their hands move into shaky signs; **Mercy! Mercy!**

You relent with a smile, and Papyrus reemerges.

‘HUMANS, I HAVE TO GO TO MY AFTERNOON DUTIES! I TRUST THE TWO OF YOU WILL BE ALRIGHT?’ You don’t miss the trust he’s placing in you, leaving you with Frisk. It’s a leap in the right direction.

‘We sure will!’ You laugh, nudging Frisk who gives an enthusiastic nod.

‘EXCELLENT! MARIE, CAN I TALK TO YOU FOR A SECOND?’ You heave yourself to your feet, and join Papyrus in walking outside. It’s a bright day out; you squint at the glare off the snow.

Papyrus kicks at the snow with one red boot, a little sheepish.

‘MARIE, YOU KNOW I DON’T THINK YOU’RE A BAD PERSON. AND I WANT TO TRUST YOU! BUT SANS SAYS WE SHOULD BE CAUTIOUS.’ You nod solemnly, feeling awkward at the sudden change of tone.

‘I’M TRUSTING YOU WITH FRISK. BUT I JUST THOUGHT YOU SHOULD KNOW-’ He’s suddenly close to you, and you’re painfully aware of his armour, his large teeth, the way he looms above you.

‘IF YOU LAY ONE FINGER ON MY BEST FRIEND, I WILL END YOU!’ He says cheerily.

‘Wh-?’

‘WELL, I HAVE TO GO NOW! I’M GLAD WE HAD THIS TALK.’ He chirrups, and strides off purposefully, leaving you shell-shocked. Holy shit. The cinnamon roll can do scary? Why did no one warn you for that bombshell? You would have liked a heads up.

You fumble for the door knob and push back in to see Frisk kneeling up, looking curious. At the sight of your face, they snort with laughter, signing **You look like you pooped your pants!**

‘Kid-’ you run a hand over your forehead, pulling hair back from your face. ‘I almost did, not gonna lie.’ They start giggling again, and you opt for not telling them about Papyrus’ threat. Instead you flop down onto the sofa with a smile.

‘Evil child! Stop laughing!’ They pretend to sulk at that, arms crossed, bottom lip stuck out in an impressive pout.

‘So, if I’m making dinner tonight, where do I get food in this crazy cave?’ You pick at your pocket, jingling the pieces of gold you’d found around the underground. Their face lights up and they take your hand, pulling you out the door. Snow crunches under your feet as the two of you make your way through Snowdin. As you walk Frisk points out a few things that you hadn’t noticed the last few times. A misspelled library sign here, a lovingly-decorated tree there. Ragged flowers that grow up through the snow despite themselves. You’re already falling in love with this cute little town- it’s peaceful. _Nice change_ , you think wryly.

They don’t let go of your hand all the way through Snowdin, until you reach a brightly-lit log cabin. As you step inside, the warmth hits you like a wall. You sigh happily, taking in the brightly-coloured products.

The bunny running the shop is beautiful, fur a pale lilac, doe-brown eyes lined by long black lashes, face lit by a warm smile. She greets Frisk warmly- and you with an inquisitive smile- but doesn’t seem to recognize the fact that either of you are humans.

The shelves are stocked surprisingly well, boxes dusty and water-logged but stamped with recognizable brands.

‘Right, Frisk, what should I cook do ya think? I reckon Papyrus would like something pasta-based.’ Frisk sticks their tongue out and shakes their head.

‘Sick to the back teeth of pasta, huh? Alright, some kind of pie maybe?’ Frisk looks suddenly sad at that, biting a thumbnail. ‘Oh, we don’t like pie?’ They hesitate then sign, **Memories.** Memories? Wait- _wait._

‘You left Toriel, too?’ They look up sharply, eyes wide.

**Yes. She didn’t want me to, but… I had to…**

Their hands tremble a little- you’ve hit a raw topic. They sniff a little and look at the floor, eyes filling up. You bend down and throw your arms around them, pulling them close.

‘I get it, lovely.’ You make contact with the shopkeeper, who’s fidgeting concernedly, and shake your head with a smile to show that it’s fine. ‘I get it.’ The two of you stay there for a second, Frisk clinging onto you like a lifeline. You can’t help but wonder why they left; Toriel’s sickly sweet nature and loyalty would surely be attractive to a kid like Frisk- with Frisk’s past. You suppose you don’t know much about it, only a few scraps of information from Sans.

After a moment Frisk pulls away, swiping at their eyes. They’ve stopped crying; face set in a determined smile. Their hands don’t shake when they sign.

**Can we have wraps?** You laugh softly, and nod. You take the hint: they don’t want to talk about it.

‘If you can find the stuff, sure.’ They turn and scour the shelves for the right boxes, giving a small cheer every time they find a box of tortillas or an old bottle of oil. While watching them, you notice a shelf of pads and tampons, marked ‘Miscellaneous’. Shit, you hadn’t thought about it, but you’re gonna need those sometime in the next few weeks. You empty the shelf into your basket, just as Frisk drops a box of quorn chicken in.

‘Good call, kiddo. Real chicken would be all gross and moldy by now, probably.’ They nod, and shuffle their feet as you hand your gold over to the bunny.

The whole walk home they carry the paper bags, refusing to let you take even one.

 

* * *

 

 

You love the sound of oil sizzling in the pan. Takes you back to when your mother cooked you dinner, when your father was out for hours and the two of you were alone and happy. You smile as you turn over the quorn and vegetables, just as the front door slams open.

‘WHAT IS THAT GREAT SMELL?!’

‘Dinner, Papyrus! Just in time to serve up.’ You sing, taking the pan off the heat and tipping the contents into a big bowl. Frisk plays their part as server, bringing sauce, plates and cutlery to the table at lightning speed, giving an extravagant bow every time.

‘heh. you’re a little gentleperson, frisk.’ Sans says smoothly, and you catch yourself smiling at the sound of his low voice. That was weird.

You fling your raggedy apron to one side and go to sit with the others at the table, watching them serve up with pride. You managed not to burn anything, which is one hell of an achievement for you. Frisk shows the skele-bros how to fold the tortillas, and you start to serve yourself a heaping pile of hot vegetables. Papyrus’ eyes light up when he takes a bite.

‘MARIE! THIS IS SCRUMPTIOUS!’ You laugh, blushing a little, and take a bite yourself. Hey, it really isn’t that bad.

You suppose you’re a better cook when you’re not under the weighty threat of punishment- and it’s not like Papyrus is hard to live up to, bless him.

The time passes happily while you eat, conversation full of laughter and talk of plans for tomorrow.

‘YES, UNDYNE HAS BEEN TETCHY RECENTLY. SHE REALLY WANTS TO FIND A HUMAN!-’ Papyrus cuts himself off sharply, and you go still, adamantly refusing to look up from your plate at the three faces turned to watch you. You’d almost forgotten that you were captured. What do they even do with captured humans? You remember what Sans said about souls. Is that what they wanted to do to you? Extract your soul to break free? Fuck, do they have dementors? This is some Harry Potter level shit right here.

‘I HAVEN’T… I HAVEN’T TOLD HER ABOUT YOU, MARIE.’ You finally look at him, and his guilty face is enough to break your heart. ‘BUT SHE’S MY BEST FRIEND, AND I CAN’T… I CAN’T KEEP LYING FOREVER.’ _What will happen if you tell her?!_ You want to yell _. What will happen to me?_

Instead, you give him a shaky smile. ‘Don’t feel guilty, Papyrus.’ God, it’s a weak reassurance, but what else can you say? You don’t know if you mean about him wanting to tell Undyne, or him not wanting to tell Undyne, but either way you don’t want him to feel bad about anything. He deserves better.

Sans clears his throat in the heavy silence that follows, crossing his knife and fork on his plate. ‘thanks for that, marie. it was good.’ You shoot him a grateful look for the change of subject, and he gives a small nod.

Standing up, you gather up the plates to take them to the sink.

‘YOU DON’T HAVE TO DO THAT, MARIE!’

‘Oh, it’s no bother, Paps!’ You say cheerily, determined to focus on the good things that have happened this evening.

Out of nowhere your foot catches on something and you go sprawling, crockery flying from your hands and shattering on the kitchen tiles, body landing in an awkward heap, three fingers slit wide open by a shard of china. You hear the scrape of chair legs against carpet as all three of your companions jump to their feet.

‘Shit!’ You whisper to yourself, getting to your knees immediately and clenching your fingers shut to try and stop the stream of blood.

‘MARIE?’ Papyrus cries, leaping to your side. You look up from your hand and notice the mess you’ve made, the broken plates. _Stupid, stupid, STUPID!_

‘I’m so sorry!’ You cry, taking your hand from the cut and scrambling to pick up the shards of crockery. Tears jump to your eyes without warning and you’re suddenly back in your dad’s house,

_apologizing over and over but it’s not enough, you shouldn’t have made the mistake in the first place you’re so stupid and he’s grabbing you by the elbow and yanking you roughly to your feet and pulling his fist back to hit you and_

Sans remains frozen where he stands, watching you trembling and sobbing, whispering apologies over and over, desperately trying to gather the china into your bloody hands. The sight of you made him jump up from his chair but now he can do nothing but watch as he starts to catch on to exactly how much pain you’d been through.

Frisk tugs furiously at his sleeve, their expression full of worry, and he snaps out of it. ‘papyrus, take frisk upstairs for a second.’ He says gruffly. Papyrus looks up from shaking your shoulder and nods, taking Frisk’s hand and leading them up the stairs.

Sans kneels down in front of you, taking in your blank expression, heaving shoulders, the desperate ‘sorry’ you whisper over and over, the tears tracking down your dark skin. Your hand is bleeding pretty badly, the red spotting on the tiled floor. He grabs your wrists, unable to watch you reach for another piece of broken china, and you finally look up, brown eyes flicking over his face. You struggle weakly, face creased with pain, trying to fix the damage you’d done. You’re panicking, and _god_ he knows how that feels. He knows that feeling of pure, concentrated fear all too well.

Your past is starting to fit together in his head like puzzle pieces, your genuine panic at Grillby’s, the bruises on your hips, now this. As he watches you cry and apologize over and over, his inhibitions about you fall away. He murmurs, ‘breathe, marie.’ Your eyes fill with more tears, still glassy, not seeing anything. You’re not in the room- you’re over the sea in France with your father, watching him punish you over and over.

‘it’s not your fault. none of it… none of it is. the ice cap, or anything. it’s not your fault.’

Slowly, you’re starting to come back to him, blinking a little more, shoulders slowly coming to a shuddering halt, breaths coming a little more easily. Your fingers drip onto his hand and Sans shudders despite himself, not wanting to look. He needs to dress that wound, but he can’t leave your side yet.

You blink again, taking a long breath. You’re not back in France with your dad. You’re here, and you’re present, and you’re okay. ‘I’m okay.’ You mumble, reinforcing the mantra, and Sans’ face softens with relief.

‘scared me there, bud.’ You open your mouth, and he says quickly, ‘don’t say sorry!’ You shut it again, smiling sadly. You both look down at his hands around your wrists at the same time and he quickly lets go.

‘your, uh, your fingers are bleeding, marie.’ He says quickly, tone a little sheepish, and stands, presumably to find a First Aid Kit. Your grateful smile disappears as soon as you pay attention to your hands- the chill is back, and a wet sensation tells you that water is welling up. Focusing your attention on your hand, you direct all of your willpower towards making it stop- and voila. It takes less effort this time; not two seconds pass before the chill leaves and you can tip the water out of your hands onto the floor. There, easy. It’s becoming normal, which should probably worry you more.

Sans kneels back down in front of you- none the wiser- and gestures for you to hold out your hurt hand. As he wraps the bandage round your fingers, he clears his throat.

‘can we go somewhere to talk?’

You exhale slowly, clenching and unclenching your fist, mildly fascinated by the pain. You know what this talk is gonna be about. You don’t know if you’re ready to unload all that bullshitty emotional baggage, but you push your fears to the back of your mind.

‘Yeah… yeah, okay Sans.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey friends what's the crack  
> this chapter just didn't wanna get written, thanks as always to  
> queendubstep.tumblr.com  
> what a sugarplum  
> hey guys, guys  
> ya gurl's got a date  
> that's right someone asked me out WHAT ikr crazy times  
> also i'm super sick which should be good and attractive  
> follow me on tumblr! chickaloho.tumblr.com  
> love y'all and your comments  
> -dot


	10. building bridges, gratitude

‘you trust me?’ Sans asked, holding out a bony hand. The two of you have been walking for a few minutes, out of the house, out of town, back along the path you took with Papyrus. You had thought for a second he might take you to the forest where you saw the Ice Cap and were about to protest, but he’s stopped at a wooden rope bridge hanging over an immense rift between two cliffs. Below- so, so far below- you can make out trees and lodges, a huge civilization that you’d only seen a tiny percentage of. You look at his outstretched hand, then take it, nodding. It’s warm, solid. Comforting. He leads you onto the bridge and sits, legs swinging over the edge, arms folded on top of the rope separating you from a fatal fall. You hesitate then join him, echoing his posture. The height is dizzying, the frail creak of the wooden planks terrifying- but you’re exhilarated. You feel free.

‘This is cool.’ You say, resting your head on your arms as you look out over the trees.

‘you ain’t scared?’

‘I fell from higher than this just to get here.’ You smirk at him. ‘Gonna take a little more than that to scare me, Sansy boy.’

‘sansy boy?’ He snorts, and you laugh with him.

‘I’m trying it out, gimme a break.’ He huffs a laugh, before looking at you.

‘marie, what happened back there…’ You take a hand off the rope to tug at a strand of hair, not making eye contact.

‘I’m just a little jumpy. I’m real sorry about the plates, though.’

‘forget the plates. look, i couldn’t help but notice your bruises last night-’ You groan.

‘Oh, fuck, I thought you didn’t notice. Wishful thinking.’

‘yeah. well. i did.’ You bury your chin deeper into your forearms, looking straight ahead. ‘i’m sorry for whatever happened to you, bud.’ You let out a small snort.

‘You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. Wasn’t you who hit me every time I burnt dinner- which was often, by the way. Tonight was an exception, but I’m a really shitty cook.’ You laugh lightly, but Sans isn’t amused. He gingerly lays a hand on your shoulder, and you swallow. Fuck, you’ve done nothing but be a burden on him and his brother since you fell down here.

‘who…?’

‘Just… a boyfriend. The bruises are from a while ago, they just scarred.’ You mumble, unwilling to unload the entire situation onto him. He doesn't need to know about your dad. He doesn't need to know how much you hate those bruises. How shitty you felt when the doctor told you that they were here to stay; that the stains on your skin were due to burst blood vessels and he couldn't do anything about it. How disgusted you feel every time you see in them in the mirror. ‘Sorry.’ You whisper.

‘if i’ve got nothing to apologize for, then neither do you, marie.’

You stay silent at that. There’s a sudden nip of cold in your palms and water starts to stream from your hands into the darkness below you.

‘marie, what-?’ He grabs your wrist and pulls your hand up to his face, incredulous. ‘you have magic too?’

‘ _Too_? More people are leaking?’ Sans lets out a bark of laughter, looking away from your hand to make eye contact with you.

‘leaking? seriously? you call it _leaking_?’ You start laughing. Honestly, his mockery is much-needed validation that the water isn’t imaginary. He shakes his head and continues.

‘nah, i’ve never seen this kinda magic before. but most monsters have a little magic, and frisk has some.’

‘You have magic?’

‘heh, a little. but yours just turns on like that?’

‘I can stop it, and I’m working on calling it but I can’t completely control it yet.’ Sans makes a sound of acknowledgement, turning your hands over.

‘interesting. every fallen human has had it, but humans aren’t recorded to have it, only certain ones. mages. there’s been nine humans in total, and all of them had magic.’

‘Too many to be a coincidence. So there’s a correlation, but is there a causation?’ You muse, cogs in your brain whirring into action, fitting pieces together. Sans hums, letting go of your hand and taking the other one, inspecting the water gathering in your palms.

‘my theory is that it’s because you all had to fall through the barrier to get down here. barrier’s just one big, infinite source of magic. you feel anything when you fell?’

‘Yes! I did, it was like, a big buzz of energy. I felt it all through me, for like a split second, and then it was gone.’ Sans nods, turning your hand upright, palm facing him.

‘make it stop?’ You will it to happen and it does, the flow sputtering to a halt all at once. He whistles.

‘pretty good control, considering you’ve had it for all of two days.’

‘Useless though, isn’t it? Unless I’m stranded in a desert or something.’ He clicks his tongue- his _tongue_?

‘You have a tongue?!’ He pauses in his observations, then sticks it out at you. It’s glowing. Bright blue, in fact. You try not to gape.

‘So that’s your magic? Just summoning random body parts?’ Sans chuckles.

‘sure, let’s go with that. hey, it’s better than _leaking.’_

‘Screw you, Sans!’ The two of you laugh together and eventually you lie back so your back is pressed up against the boards while your legs dangle into the abyss. Sans joins you, and the two of you look up into what would normally be the sky. The cavernous black is laughing at you, at your insignificance.

‘We’re really stuck down here, huh.’

‘sure are.’ He looks at you. ‘unless you kill someone.’ You frown, a little hurt.

‘Like that’s an option, Sans.’

‘sorry, sorry. i guess you’re… you’re not so bad, marie.’

‘High praise.’ You scoff, but to be fair, you’re pretty chuffed with “not so bad”. ‘So, speaking of souls. What’s the deal? How do you know what they look like?’ He shifts up to lean on his elbow, looking more comfortable around you by the minute.

‘well, monsters can see them any time, if we want. humans can’t really interact with them, but you can see them when we pull them out.’

‘Pull them… out? Isn’t that painful?’

‘i mean, the soul pulling isn’t painful, but it mainly happens when the monster wants to fight you and use magic against you. which is very painful.’ You nod slowly.

‘You can see mine?’

‘if i want to, i can. haven’t looked yet, it’s kind of… a private thing?’

‘Oh, yeah. Makes sense.’

The two of you regard each other for a while in silence. It’s Sans who breaks the silence.

‘we should probably get going. paps and frisk’ll be worried.’ He gets to his feet, steadying himself on the rickety bridge, before holding a hand out to you. You take it with a gracious smile and stand on wobbly legs, treading carefully to the end of the bridge.

‘Thanks for tonight, Sans.’ You say, swinging your arms as you walk through the snow. He nudges you amiably.

‘anytime, buddy. anytime.’

 

* * *

  

_‘YOU CAN’T ESCAPE.’ The mouth roars, and a black tentacle is wrapping round your waist as furry yellow fangs graze your throat. The obnoxious stench fills your nose. The fangs sink into your neck and you let out a strangled gurgle as blood fills your mouth._

You bolt upright with a shrill scream, clutching at your throat in a desperate attempt to stop the blood flow. You let out a sigh when you find the soft flesh intact, letting your hand drop. Blinking away sleep dust from your eyes, you’re ready for the chill in your hands; as soon as the water surfaces you’re willing it away again. Papyrus’ voice and a loud knock cuts through your tired haze.

‘MARIE?’

‘It’s open!’ You call. The door swings open and you blink at the rush of bright light and the sight of Papyrus’ silhouette, black against the white snow.

‘ARE YOU ALRIGHT? I HEARD A CRY.’

‘Sure am, Papyrus. Thanks. Just a bad dream.’ He breathes a visible sigh of relief, then closes the door, shuffling to sit next to you.

‘WOULD YOU LIKE TO TALK ABOUT IT?’

‘No, it’s okay, buddy. Thanks.’ You tip your head back against the wall, eyes closed. Papyrus shuffles his feet for a few seconds, drumming his gloved phalanges against the floor.

‘I’M MAKING BREAKFAST SOON.’

‘Aw, that’s so sweet of you!’ You run your fingers through your curls and grimace as they come away greasy. ‘Papyrus, can I use your shower?’

 

* * *

 

The water is a welcome relief- hot, steamy water, not the boring cold stuff that comes out of your hands whenever you get emotional.

You tip your hair under the hot stream, letting water run in rivulets down your face and washing away the sweat, grease and dirt built up over the past few days. You run your fingers across your eyelids, down your neck, between your breasts.

 

It takes some effort to force yourself to step out of the shower, but the smell of baked pastry downstairs gives you the extra nudge. You wind your hair into a knot and let it sit, wiping your face dry. A knock at the door makes you jump.

‘HUMAN? I HAVE SOME SPARE CLOTHES FOR YOU IF YOU WOULD LIKE THEM!’ You could kiss Papyrus right now.

‘Papyrus! You are so cool!’ You crow, cracking open the door and peeking out. He is ostentatiously covering his eyes and looking away, holding up a small bundle of fabric. You take it, thanking him, and close the door again.

He’s given you a black t-shirt with the brand ‘Mettaton’ stamped across it, which you assume is a reference you don’t get, and a pair of jeans so wide at the hips you have to make a new hole in the belt just to stop them from slipping. _This skeleton’s hips rival Shakira, damn_ , you think. Looking in the mirror, you stifle a laugh at your crazy appearance. The shirt falls halfway down your thighs, jeans slipping down your hips- and you have two ankle bracelets of denim where you had to roll up the jeans so you can actually walk.

 

Jumping down the stairs two steps at a time, you flash a grin at Frisk, who’s already sat at the table stuffing their face full of pastry. They give you a thumbs up, before going back to demolishing their breakfast.

‘HELLO, MARIE! YOU LOOK VERY NICE!’

‘Well thank you, Paps. So, what’ve you got for me?’ You grin, clapping your hands together, and his face lights up.

‘I HAVE MADE CROISSANTS! THEY ARE A BORROWED RECIPE, AND DIDN’T REQUIRE ONE BIT OF SMASHING OR BURNING! SO I HOPE THEY ARE ALRIGHT.’

‘They look great.’ You assure him, taking the plate and sliding into the seat next to Frisk.

The pastry melts in your mouth, sugar sending tingles through your tongue, and you resist the urge to groan out loud. You catch Frisk’s eye and raise an incredulous eyebrow, and they nod enthusiastically.

_Is it just spaghetti he sucks at?_

**He sucks at things Undyne taught him!**

_The bad guy who doesn’t know about me?_

Frisk nods, licking their fingers. So, the woman who wants you- presumably- dead, also teaches Papyrus to cook. Badly. Right.

You look up to see Papyrus shuffling into the seat next you, puffing his chest like he’s getting ready to speak.

‘MARIE, I’VE BEEN THINKING.’ You look at him, smiling. ‘I WAS WONDERING IF MAYBE YOU WOULD BE MORE COMFY SLEEPING ON THE COUCH? THAT SHED IS COLD AND THERE’S NO BED.’ You swallow the pastry in your mouth.

‘Wait, seriously? What does Sans have to say about that?’

‘DO NOT WORRY! HE WAS THE ONE TO SUGGEST IT!’

Holy shit.

‘Are you kidding? Frisk, buddy, has hell frozen over?’ They giggle and shake their head vigorously, fluffy brown bangs swinging above their eyes.

‘Papyrus, that would be… amazing, dude.’

‘NYEH HEH HEH!’ Oh god, that laugh- it’s so adorable, like a kid pretending to be a super villain. Actually, that’s pretty accurate.

‘WELL, I HAVE SOME THINGS FOR YOU!’ He scrapes his chair back from the table and goes to pick up a pile of fabric from the kitchen counter. ‘SOME SPARE CLOTHES, AS YOURS WILL BE GETTING GRUBBY! AND… A CELL PHONE! SO WE CAN TALK EVEN WHEN I’M NOT WITH YOU!’ He hangs the clothes over your right arm, and places the phone in your left hand. Speechless at his generosity, you roll the phone over and over in your hand. It’s made of an odd, shiny black metal, thick and old-fashioned.

‘Th-thanks, Papyrus. This is… a lot.’ Papyrus gives you an enthusiastic thumbs up, leaping to the staircase.

‘I MUST GO WAKE UP MY LAZYBONES BROTHER NOW!’ He takes the stairs two at a time, leaving you to look round at Frisk in elated disbelief.

Frisk throws their arms around you, face lit up with a bright smile.

**Sleepovers!** They sign, waggling their eyebrows.

‘Sleepovers.’ You nod, laughing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey friends how's it going good? good
> 
> OKAY SO PSA
> 
> I have a festival this weekend (ahh excitement) so I will be knee-deep in mud and very much without internet! so no saturday update!  
> okay that's fine at least you have next wee- oH WAIT I HAVE AN ADVENTURE HOLIDAY  
> SO I will still be knee-deep in mud and without internet!! I'm so sorry!  
> basically the next time I'm updating will be next Saturday- the 23rd of July! oh gosh that's so long away i'm so sorry
> 
> thank you for being patient!  
> queendubstep.tumblr.com is a beautiful human, go followw  
> and here's my tumblr - chickaloho.tumblr.com  
> love you all heaps!  
> -dot


	11. pillow fights, late-night decisions

‘alright, show me again buddy.’ Frisk takes hold of Sans’ hand and coordinates the skeletal fingers, pushing his middle and ring finger down, splaying his thumb, pulling his index and pinkie finger upright: the sign meaning ‘I love you’. Sans grins and Frisk signs it back to him, laughing. You shift on the sofa, head in your hands, smiling. This is so cute.

‘kay, hold up.’ Sans moves his hands, which are growing increasingly steady in their movement, to sign- ‘Hello, what is your name?’ Frisk raises their fists in the air in silent cheer, and Sans laughs.

‘hey, you’re a good teacher, bud. but you gotta teach me all the words for all the different types of bones. just because i’m using my hands doesn’t mean i have to lose my charming humour.’ Frisk snorts and shoves him, and a calm, collected sign language lesson turns into a pillow fight in .2 seconds. You grab a well-stuffed cushion, laughing, and swing it into Sans’ skull at the same time Frisk piles onto him.

‘no teaming up!’ Sans cries, toppling over. Frisk shrugs, giggling, and leaps at you, pillow in hand.

‘Traitor!’ You yell, scrambling away from them. You try to retaliate but try as you might, you can’t land a blow on them. ‘Shhh- shoot! Kid, you’re good at dodging.’ You stumble through the reflex to curse clumsily. The way both Frisk and Sans laugh, you can tell you’re not fooling anyone. Rolling your eyes with a reluctant smile, you toss your pillow half-heartedly at Frisk and collapse onto the sofa.

‘Well, we can cross pillow-fighting off the to-do list for our first ever sleepover. What’s next, Frisky?’ Frisk taps their chin, thinking, but you’re interrupted by a heart-wrenching sob upstairs- Papyrus. You jump at the sound of something heavy thumping to the floor. You frown, worried, and meet Sans’ eye just before he disappears into thin air.

‘Holy _shit_! What the fuck?’ You jump to your feet. Frisk dissolves into nervous giggles, despite their obvious concern for Papyrus.

**Thought you weren’t cursing? It’s Sans’ magic.**

‘He can _teleport?_ ’ You hiss, still looking around as if he’s going to pop out from hiding. The sound of Sans’ deep voice upstairs makes the two of you look up, and Frisk signs, **He’ll just be checking on Paps.**

‘Sure. Sure.’ You sit shakily, trying to keep your cool. He can teleport. Right. Cool. You’re cool, who’s _not_ cool? You? Nah.

Papyrus’ voice drifts to your ears, and much as you don’t want to eavesdrop, it’s sort of difficult not to at that volume.

‘I JUST FEEL SO GUILTY ABOUT UNDYNE NOT KNOWING, SANS!’ A chill runs through your veins, and you can feel Frisk looking at you. It’s your fault that Papyrus was crying out in anger, your fault that the most innocent guy you’d ever met was in pain. Shit. A buzz of magic crackles through the air and Sans is by your side again, eyes dull and sad.

‘hey. paps is… he ain’t feeling so good. gonna read him a bedtime story, stay in his room tonight. okay, little buddy?’ He ruffles Frisk’s hair then nods at you, expression conflicted. You nod back, gnawing your bottom lip. _He doesn’t know what to think of you_ , you think. _He was just starting to like you, and now his brother’s hurting and he doesn’t know what to do._ Another fizz of energy and he’s gone.

 

* * *

 

 

You stare at the ceiling, picking out the cracks and fissures in the dark wood. Frisk turned out the lights and curled up next to you hours ago, but you can’t sleep. The sound of Papyrus crying, lashing out at something, fills your head. You’re sick of inflicting pain on the people that surround you, but more selfishly, you’re sick of feeling guilty. Guilt has been your most prominent personality trait your whole life, and you’re damn tired of it. You sit up suddenly, holding yourself up with one hand. You can change this.

Gingerly, you creep over the top of Frisk, landing on your tiptoes. A peek out of the window tells you that it’s very, very early morning, light just starting to spread through the sky. Snow is falling in a thick flurry.

Seeing this, you hesitate at your lack of a jacket. You pick up the fluffy white blanket and wrap it around you like a shawl. Ready.

You jerk in surprise at the feeling of a hand grabbing yours, and whirl round to see Frisk, blinking awake on the sofa. They sleepily sign, **where are you going?**

_I’m going to find Undyne._

**To fight her?**

_What? No! I just can’t be a secret anymore. Papyrus was really upset._ Frisk nods slowly, face creased with thought- then they push themselves up onto their feet.

**Well, I’m coming too!**

_Frisk, what? Aren’t you sleepy or something?_

**Sleep is for losers!** They sign, tiny chest puffed in determination. You stifle a snort of laughter, thinking it over. If you left without them, they’d probably- judging from that determined expression- follow you. Besides, Frisk said they were friends with Undyne now, which could work in your favour. You didn’t want to be a burden anymore; you were ready to step up and face your problems head on- but you didn’t want to _die._ Yeah, Frisk would be helpful. Plus, they were working some killer puppy-dog eyes right now.

_Okay. Okay, let’s get going._ Frisk’s eyes light up, and they press a finger to their lips, tiptoeing to the front door. You slide your new phone into a pocket and pull on your boots, hopping around on one leg.

**Shush!** Frisk signs frantically, and you squint at them, before shrugging and going to open the front door.

**WAIT! We should climb out the window.**

_What? Kid, no._ They stick their tongue out at that, following you through the open doorway into the snow. You wrap the white blanket tighter around you, shivering a little, as Frisk quietly pulls the door to a close.

_Which way?_ You sign, and they take hold of your blanket like a leash and start walking. You let it happen, laughing softly, watching the snow turn into slush and then into navy blue rock beneath your feet as you walk. Looking up you see the dark sky banked with snow clouds become dark rock as the change in lighting ruins the illusion. The temperature becomes very quickly warm, and so humid it’s an effort to draw breath.

You pass a wooden hut that looks like a sentry station, and you wonder if that’s where Sans does his job every day. You glance at Frisk, still leading you by your blanket, and although they still look determined, they look tired.

‘Hey, buddy.’ You say, confident that you’re far enough away from anyone now to be loud. ‘You wanna get up on my back and give me directions from there?’ They nod with a sleepy smile, and you bend down to let them clamber onto your back. You hoist their light frame up easily, one of their arms wrapping around your neck, the other pointing the way to walk.

The two of you pass a luminescent blue flower. ‘Woah, that’s cool.’ You say to Frisk, then jump as your words are echoed back to you. They snigger at your surprise. You lean in close to the flower. ‘Butt,’ you whisper- the first word that came to mind. God, you’re a child. _Butt, butt, butt, butt._ The flower echoes, and the both of you snort with laughter and keep walking.

Frisk guides you through a catacomb of pools, each one glowing a beautiful aqua colour. You bend to trail a hand through one- careful not to tip Frisk in headfirst- and find it warm. The water leaves a slight glow on your skin before fading away.

Finally, you arrive at a clearing that branches off into multiple different directions. Frisk points at the top right path. You duck through it, emerging into a small cave. You take a deep breath at the sight of Undyne’s house, a fierce face with sharp fangs for a door. Frisk jumps down from your back and gives you a supportive smile. You follow them to the door, and resist the urge to run as they reach up and knock twice.

 

‘Come in!’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm back, back, back  
> i'm basically on a 4 week course at the moment, every week's something different- and last week was camping. that means no wifi, no phone, etc etc. anyways i'm home now, covered in mosquito bites and completely exhausted.  
> next week i'm at a uni campus which will hopefully have wifi and more importantly private rooms, so i can write without having to explain to new friends why i'm writing fanfiction about sexy skels
> 
> altogether ty for being patient dolls, updates may be a lil patchy but they should hopefully stick on schedule. follow me on tumblr for updates - chickaloho.tumblr.com  
> and my lovely beta writer - queendubstep.tumblr.com
> 
> love you puddingface, yes you in the back  
> -dot


	12. cooking lessons, firefighting

With a smooth whirr, the door slides upwards to reveal a well-lit house, decorated all over with bright pastel colours.

‘Would you look at that, it’s Frisky! You’re up early, punk, are you cra…zy…?’ Undyne trails off as she spots you. Her shock lasts less than a second as a green weapon starts to take shape in her hand, eye hardening instantly as she drops into defensive position. She’s dressed in a black tank top and pyjama bottoms, scarlet hair spilling over her shoulders in an unbrushed tangle. Anyone else might have been a little less intimidating when looking like they’d just rolled out of bed, but not Undyne. Her blue, scaly skin shifts over an array of impressive muscles as she sizes you up. You eye her sharp teeth, her eye patch, the weapon in her hand that turns out to be an emerald green spear.

‘Frisk.’ Undyne says through gritted teeth.

‘Himyname’sMarie!’ You blurt out in your panic, voice squeaky and thin. Undyne raises an eyebrow, not moving from her defensive stance.

‘Undyne.’ She spits, then addresses Frisk without taking her eyes off you. ‘Frisk, what the fuck is this?’

‘Ooh, uh, language,’ you say, thinking of Sans, then instantly regret it. Undyne squints at you.

‘For real, punk? I’m about to shove this spear in your eyeball and your first thought is “ooh, keep the child’s ears clean”?’ You giggle nervously, accidentally even; take in the sharp blade for the first time.

Frisk steps between the two of you, and Undyne’s eyes leave you for the first time to watch their hands.

**Undyne, you can’t hurt her. She came to make friends.**

‘Friends?’ She scoffs, singular eye flicking between you and Frisk. So Undyne knows sign language. Interesting. ‘Look, Frisk, I spared you because you’re just a kid, and I knew you, and you’re a cutie. But this… it’s Marie, right? You’re practically an adult. I don’t know you, and I can’t just keep _doing_ this, damn it!’ Undyne stomps her foot, voice full of anger and guilt. ‘I can’t keep my people trapped because I don’t want to do the dirty work.’

You take a step towards her, hands raised to show your peace, heart bumping against your ribcage. Frisk starts signing desperately.

**Oh, I get it Undyne. You’re not up to the challenge of being her friend.**

You frown at them, confused, but Undyne bristles visibly.

‘Not up to the challenge?! Frisk, I see what you’re doing here. I’m totally up to it, I just-’

**Don’t believe you.** Frisk crosses their arms, bottom lip protruding in an impressive pout.

‘Don’t believe me? If I wanted to be friends with Marie here, I-’

**Liar.**

‘Frisk, I can’t-’

**Liar, liar, pants on fire!**

Undyne growls, _literally_ growls, and the spear flickers and disappears.

‘Damn it Frisk!’ She pounds a fist on the table, then looks at you. ‘MARIE! Sit your ass down right this second.’ You oblige without question, in awe.

‘Do you want tea, or coffee.’ She snarls, a fleck of spittle landing on your cheekbone. You don’t dare brush it away.

‘Uh, um, tea. Please. I hate coffee. It tastes like dirt! I mean, unlessyoulikeitthenofcourse-’ Undyne surprises you with a small snort.

‘Yeah. Coffee’s for losers.’ Huh. Your inability to shut your mouth when under stress seems to be working out. Go figure. ‘At least not everything about you is garbage.’ She nods approvingly, turning her back on you to fill up a small tin kettle. Frisk jumps up beside you at the table and you make a exaggerated expression of terror at them.

**If you’ve got this far without her killing you, I don’t think she’s going to kill you at all!** They sign, giving you a thumbs up. Gee, thank fuck for _that_ vote of confidence. How is this your life now? You sigh, and the room is tense until Frisk runs over to the piano in the corner. They tap it with a questioning look, and Undyne waves a hand flippantly. ‘Sure, sure. Go ahead, punk.’ Frisk keys out a few scales, and a very basic rendition of Chopsticks, and you give them a little round of applause. They stand on the stool and bow.

‘You play?’ You ask Undyne, and she glares at the floor for a second before answering.

‘ _Noo,_ I just own a piano because it _looks pretty._ ’ She says sarcastically. You shrug passively, and go back to watching Frisk. As the room fills with clumsy piano music, Undyne stares at you unabashedly. You let out a long breath, then turn to her.

‘So, that spear was pretty awesome.’

‘ _Well_ , how sweet. Gee, I didn’t know we were doing compliments, I LOVE how luscious your hair is! I can’t wait to braid it, bestie!’ Her every word drips with sarcasm. Fucking hell. You bite back your temper, and mutter a polite thank you. She opens her mouth to retort but the two of you are interrupted by Frisk waving.

**Undyne, why don’t we do a cooking lesson?**

A sharp-toothed grin slowly replaces Undyne’s sullen scowl.

‘Hey, yeah! Good idea, punk!’ She rolls her shoulders out, clicking her neck. ‘Let’s make BREAKFAST!’ You rest your chin in your hands at the table as Undyne and Frisk dash around the kitchen, throwing ingredients left and right.

‘ALRIGHT,’ Undyne begins, pounding her fist into her palm. ‘Pancakes. Frisky, throw all the wimpy powder crap into that bowl!’ Frisk gently tips some flour into the mixing bowl, and Undyne scoffs. ‘Damn it Frisk, you weenie!’ She hits the flour out of Frisk’s hands, and it lands in the bowl, flour exploding everywhere. The two of them erupt into laughter, and Undyne cackles, ‘Looks good enough to me!’

Frisk dumps sugar, baking powder and salt into the mountain of flour as Undyne holds two eggs in the air. ‘Eggs are my favourite- COS I SMASH THEM LIKE THE SKULLS OF MY ENEMIES!’ She bellows, flinging them into the bowl and sending yolk all up the walls and all down Frisk’s jumper.

‘Gross…’ You mutter, glad that you aren’t partaking in the impromptu cooking lesson.

‘WHAT WAS THAT, PUNK?’ Undyne roars over her shoulder, as she tips the entirety of the bowl into a frying pan.

‘Uh, yummy! Delicious. Aren’t you meant to like, wait? Let the mixture sit or something?’

‘Sounds like _weenie_ talk to me. Right, Frisk?!’

**Right!**

Undyne starts spinning the oven dial to the right, and you frown.

‘Uh. Undyne?’ Flames start spilling up the side of the frying pan and into the air. That is _not_ a normal oven. The flames start to lick three feet up into the air, and a jolt of fear runs through you. ‘Undyne!’

‘NEEDS TO BE HOTTER!’

‘ _Undyne!’_

The fire lets off an explosion of sparks, igniting several other places on the counter. At the same time you leap towards Frisk, yanking them behind you and throwing your hand up instinctively. An unbearable, freezing cold rises up in your hand so quickly you barely even register it, and a huge jet of water bursts out from your palm. The flames don’t stand a chance against the torrent of water; they’re quenched within seconds.

Smoke plumes from the remainder of the pan, and with a little effort your water dwindles and stops. The three of you stand in shocked silence for a second, and you can feel Frisk’s wrist, soaked with water, still in your grip. You let it go and bend down to them.

‘You okay?’ They nod, awe-struck.

‘Jesus.’ Undyne mutters to your left, looking at you. You stand and face her.

‘Yeah, it’s uh… that was new. I didn’t know I could do that.’ Frisk starts coughing, and you take their hand. ‘We need to get out of here, that smoke’s not good for anyone.’

Undyne follows you out of her house silently, still in her pyjamas, face blackened and eyelashes singed. You flop down on the warm rock floor outside, huffing a sigh. You’re suddenly tired, right to your very core, and you don’t think it’s just because you had no sleep. The sudden burst of magic took all your energy out of you. Frisk sits cross-legged next to you, but Undyne paces back and forth.

‘Thanks for saving my house,’ she says finally; gruff, reluctant.

‘No problem.’

‘And uh, the kid. Thanks for pushing them out the way.’

‘Again, no biggie.’ You smile weakly, leaning back on your hands and letting your head loll back, hair falling away from your face.

‘I didn’t know you had magic,’ she says finally, folding her arms over her chest.

‘Neither did I until a few days ago; it’s pretty new,’ you admit. Undyne regards you for a second, before letting out a melodramatic sigh and sitting.

_‘Damn it!’_ She spits, running her hands through her hair. You wince at her sharp nails snagging on the tangles, but say nothing. ‘I have to take your soul- I need to! But, you saved Frisk from getting cooked, and you’re cool, and you have magic!’ She exclaims, frustrated, thumping the ground with her fist. You’re silent, watching her internal conflict tensely.

‘I…’ Undyne looks at you, then shakes her head. ‘I can’t do it, punk. I’m not… I don’t murder innocent people,’ she mutters, cracking her scaly knuckles.

‘Undyne… Thank you,’ you murmur.

‘Yeah, yeah.’ She gives you a tentative grin- you try not to flinch at the massive teeth- and jumps to her feet, extending a hand to you. You take it and wince as she almost wrenches your arm out of your socket by pulling you to your feet. ‘You know what, punk? My… friend, Alphys, is a genius. She’ll probably come up with some fancy fake soul to get us out of here, so I can wait a little longer!’

‘Sounds good to me.’ You laugh, tugging a little at the blanket still tied round your neck. It feels a little ridiculous now you’re out of the snow.

‘Right, well I’m gonna go get out of these PJs. Frisk?’ She holds up a hand and Frisk jumps to high-five it. ‘Nerd?’ She offers you one, and you clap your hand to hers with a snort of self-conscious laughter. ‘Oh, and you know where to find me when you want training for that magic, punk.’ She says, more seriously.

‘Oh, right! Yeah, that would- I mean, I don’t exactly know what I’m doing.’

‘I’ll change that! Fuhuhu!’ She crows with increasing enthusiasm. ‘You have a phone? I’ll give you my number.’

‘Sure, it’s just-’ You fumble for the phone, retrieving it from your back pocket.

A glance at the screen has you sick to your stomach. Four texts and three missed calls- all from Sans. You open the text, feeling dread rise in your stomach.

 

**/Sans, 22 minutes ago**

**where are u? where have u taken frisk?**

 

**/Sans, 17 minutes ago**

**what the fuck have u done**

 

**/Sans, 16 minutes ago**

**can’t believe i let my guard down.**

 

**/Sans, 14 minutes ago**

**coming to find u, touch a hair on their head and ill make u regret it**

 

So, Sans thinks you kidnapped his kid.

 

Shit.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! gosh these last few weeks have been hectic. hope you all saw my update on my tumblr- but if you didn't, i'll be posting at least 3 chapters this weekend to make up for it~  
> thanks to my lovely beta reader - queendubstep.tumblr.com
> 
> send me a love letter on tumblr - chickaloho.tumblr.com  
> love youse all as usual!  
> -dot


	13. arguments, movie references

‘Frisk, we have to go.’

**What? Where?**

‘Sans has texted me a bunch of times. He thinks I kidnapped you or something.’ Your heart is pounding, but Undyne just lets out a hearty laugh, clapping you on the back.

‘Oh man, good luck with that one, punk! I’m going to shower.’ With that she reenters her house, leaving you alone with Frisk. You resist the urge to call her back- even though she was trying to kill you literally minutes ago, her down-to-earth nature was comforting. Also you wouldn’t exactly mind having a badass warrior on your side right now.

You take a deep breath to calm your nerves, then smile down at Frisk.

‘It’s okay, I just have to explain to Sans that I didn’t take you, or hurt you, or whatever.’ Frisk frowns.

**Duh.**

You let out a quiet huff of laughter, taking their hand and starting to walk back the way you came- but their opinion remains with you. Yes, duh. You thought Sans trusted you- after you opened up about your past, he _should_ trust you. The way he’s jumped back to his old opinion of you, so easily, so quickly- it hurts. Anger stirs faintly in your belly, but you repress it. You find Sans’ contact in your phone- thoughtfully entered there by Papyrus- and call him, chewing on the inside of your cheek. He picks up on the first dial.

‘where are you?’

‘Sans, Frisk and I went on a walk-’ You quickly explain, but he interrupts.

‘ _where_ are you?’ He repeats, voice audibly heavy with anger even through the phone. You resist the urge to scream in frustration.

‘Waterfall, outside Undyne’s house.’ The call ends, and you jump as Sans materializes a few feet ahead of you. Right, he can teleport. You haven’t had chance to ask him about that- right now you have a feeling he’s not in the mood for a chat. His expression is stormy, and he pulls Frisk away from you, ignoring their cry of protest. A small part of you notes the fact that he is gentle, even when furious, with the kid. It doesn’t appease your indignation.

‘explain,’ he spits.

‘I went to go find Undyne, Frisk woke up and wanted to come! That’s all there is to it!’

‘frisk, you okay?’ You raise your eyes to the sky, vexed, while Frisk signs, just as irritated as you. Sans turns his attention back to you. ‘you couldn’t leave a note?’

‘I didn’t fu- I didn’t think about it, I don’t know, I’m sorry!’ You snap, struggling to hold onto your temper. You’re a short-tempered person, and this is testing your goddamn patience. Sans checks Frisk over once more, then exhales heavily. His trademark smile returns slowly, tentatively, tugging at the edges of his mouth as relief sets in.

‘alright. don’t scare me like that again.’ That’s it? No apology? No _sorry for instantly assuming you murdered a child_? You swallow your retort.

The three of you begin the walk back to the house in Snowdin, and Sans calls Papyrus; who, you learn, had been the one to wake and discover your disappearance; telling him that you’d been found. That he could stop worrying. The thought of Papyrus’ worry sends a slight prick of guilt through your system- you really should have left a note. Still, thinking about how quickly Sans leapt to his assumptions; the apology he still hasn’t given you- it makes your anger flare right up.

As the three of you arrive at the house, Papyrus rushes up and flings his arms around Frisk.

‘FRISK!’ Frisk hugs him back, smiling. When they finally pull apart, Papyrus looks at you, and hesitates. That hesitation sends ice down your spine. For just a moment it seems that Papyrus, the most innocent and trusting person, lost faith in you- but it’s over within seconds, and his arms are around you. ‘MARIE, I WAS SO WORRIED!’

‘I’m sorry, Paps. I went to tell Undyne about me being here, I thought it would make it better.’

‘YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO DO THAT, YOU COULD HAVE BEEN HURT! OR WORSE!’ You flash him a guilty smile. ‘Well, I wasn’t! I felt bad about you being so upset last night.’ It’s Papyrus’ turn to look guilty.

‘MARIE… FRISK… I HAVE TO APOLOGISE. YOU WEREN’T MEANT TO HEAR THAT. A ROYAL GUARD IS MEANT TO REMAIN BRAVE IN THE FACE OF DIFFICULTY!’

‘Hey, you’re brave, Paps.’ You smile. ‘It’s okay now, anyway. I sorted it with Undyne and no one got hurt.’ Papyrus beams at you, and ruffles Frisk’s hair.

‘YOU SHOULD BE PROUD! THIS CALLS FOR CELEBRATORY SPAGHETTI!’ With that, he gives you another hug, then marches into the house.

Sans catches the door before it swings shut and holds it open for Frisk, but you don’t follow.

‘Can I talk to you?’ You ask instead, hands fidgeting. Sans smiles wryly.

‘stole the words right out my mouth.’

The door closes leaving the two of you in tense silence. You start walking towards the trees, though you’re not aiming to go anywhere. You just want a distraction, and walking suffices. Sans stuffs his hands into his pockets at your side; neither of you want to be the first to speak. Finally, he clears his throat.

‘so, you fought undyne?’

‘No. I _talked_ to her. I don’t try to get in fights, Sans, contrary to what you think.’ You say coldly, anger bubbling below the surface. Your hands are quickly growing colder, but you can’t deal with the water problem right now.

‘woah, easy tiger,’ he exclaims, holding up his bony hands. ‘just askin’.’

‘Yeah, well.’ The snow crunches beneath your feet. _Just apologize,_ you think. _Please, just apologize._ But the suffocating silence stretches on, no apology from Sans, no compromise from you. The calm before the storm. You gather your courage in two hands, take a deep breath, and speak up.

‘It kind of stung that you assumed I’d hurt Frisk.’ You say, letting your stubborn nature take a backseat in order to move forward. This gives Sans pause, confirming your suspicions that he had no idea why you were mad. For some reason this makes you more annoyed.

‘i was just trying to keep my family safe, marie.’

‘Okay, yeah, sure, but I kind of thought you trusted me.’

‘i do, but-’

‘Well obviously that’s a lie. You don’t accuse people you trust of fucking murdering a child.’ Sans grits his teeth, bristling at the interruption.

‘alright marie, _fine_ , so what if i _don’t_ trust you?’

‘I don’t get why, Sans- how the fuck is that fair on me?’

‘fair? you think i like not being able to trust you? or anyone?’

‘Oh, so I’m supposed to feel bad for you now?’ Your heart is thumping in your throat, fists clenched.

‘it’d make a fucking difference to you feeling bad for _yourself_ all the time.’ Sans snaps. His words sends you reeling. Sans takes a step back, face full of regret- but it’s too late. Your shock quickly turns to cold fury, and without thinking twice you start to run in the other direction. The tears are already welling up, your hands colder than they’d ever been. How could he say that? After you’d opened up to him, after you’d _trusted_ him. How could he? Branches whip at your face as you sprint away from him. As you run, you grimace as your hands are pierced with a new level of cold. Looking down, you gape at the sight of your hands crusting over with snow- not water, snow- the snow hardening and turning to ice. You can’t move your fingers anymore. Both of your hands are covered; icicles hanging off of your wrists, fists encased in pale blue ice shaped into a large spike on either hand. The fuck is this, Frozen?

‘marie, wait!’ You’re hit by a sudden flashback of Toriel chasing you, trying to explain herself. _You’re running again, always running. Selfish._ A familiar buzz sounds out and Sans appears next to you, making you jump.

‘Fuck this,’ you mutter, and stop abruptly. No point repeating your mistakes; look how well running away worked out for you with Toriel. With Johnny. With your Dad.

‘i didn’t mean that. i’m sorry.’

‘So he finally apologizes,’ you laugh sarcastically, looking away from him, blinking your tears away. Staring at your hands. Your heartbeat is heavy against your ribs.

‘yeah, i do.’ ‘it was… i was projecting. it wasn’t about you.’ You chew your lip for a few seconds, then sit in the snow. You figure a little cold on top of your iced over hands, and you’re ready to talk it out with Sans. No more running away. He sits down opposite you.

The two of you look at the floor for a few seconds, both regretful of things you’d said, both too stubborn to say so. Neither of you wanting to continue the argument, neither of you wanting to apologize. The ice round your hands has started to melt.

‘your hands okay?’ He asks finally. ‘that’s never happened before, right?’ So he’s noticed. You almost want to laugh, bitter at how observant he is even when angry. Not like your blind rage.

‘Yeah, I think… I think they’re melting,’ you mumble, watching droplets of water start to travel down the ice. The cold sensation has dulled- it’s almost unnoticeable now.

‘marie, i really am sorry,’ Sans starts. You sniff, swipe away the tears with the inside of your elbow. ‘you… you remember the human i mentioned? the one who used to manipulate people.’ You nod in response. He’s opening up to you, a peace offering.

‘her name was iola.’

‘Iola.’ The name sticks in your mouth, harsh-sounding. You don’t like it.

‘yup. she fell maybe two, three months after frisk.’

‘Not that long ago,’ you observe.

‘less than a year. iola was older though, about 14.’ Sans sighs heavily, then starts to tell you the story of Iola Kosko.

You learn that Iola captured Toriel’s heart in the ruins, winding her round her pinkie finger. She was small for her age, pretty and wide-eyed. One day she left the ruins- for no obvious reason. Sans explains the idea of LV to you, and that when Iola left the ruins she had none. Having lived with Frisk for a few months, Sans had become trusting, warmer. After checking Toriel was fine, and that she had no LV, he let her get close to his family.

Iola was far too clever for a 14 year old; manipulative; worming her way into his heart. She played to his weaknesses. Befriended Papyrus. A blink of her dark lashes could get her anything she wanted- but no one saw those qualities at the time. Sans certainly didn’t. He saw her quick wit; her maturity; her apparent kind intentions. He quickly became as protective over her as he was for Frisk- whom, surprisingly, was the only person who didn’t immediately warm to Iola.

‘frisk was the only one to keep their guard up,’ Sans reminisces. ‘they were kind, obviously. always are. but they kept their distance, just enough not to be obvious. smart kid.’ Sans looks at the ground, grimacing a little.

‘i didn’t… i got too comfy. she didn’t consider hangin’ about, was determined to get out of the underground. had to get home, she said. i figured, good on her. waved her goodbye, let her go on her way.’ Sans absently drags his fingers through the snow. You’re oddly fascinated by the way the snow falls through the spaces between his bones.

‘next day, i get a call. it’s iola.’ He presses his thumb deep into the snow, stares at the hole he’s made for a couple of seconds before continuing. ‘she’s crying. hysterical, even. in a fight with undyne, says she just attacked her out of nowhere. badly hurt. normally i don’t like to get involved, but…’ He looks up at you for the first time, face a mask of guilt. ‘what do you do? this kid- our friend- barely fourteen, calls up, sobbing, hurt. screaming for help.’ He looks away again. A finger of dread runs down your spine: you have a bad feeling about this.

‘i get there, and do the obvious; confront undyne, ask her what the hell she’s doin’ to the kid. killin’ innocent people, that’s not her style- and i’d seen nothin’ but innocence from iola,’ Sans mutters the last phrase; sick with guilt. ‘undyne was furious, tellin’ me i was a complete moron.’ He chuckles bitterly. ‘she was goddamn right.’ You frown, but a tingling in your fingers stops you from interrupting. You look down in surprise as large chunks of ice start to break off from either hand, leaving them crusted with only a thin layer of crystalline blue. You can just about move your fingers again.

‘tells me to check iola’s LV. like i said before, souls are pretty private, so i only checked it the first time we met then never again. iola starts guilt-tripping me. askin’ why don’t i trust her, don’t i know her, you get the gist.’ You have a feeling you know where this is going; and you don’t like it.

‘i checked her.’ Sans clenches his fists, a few flecks of snow falling through the bones of his palms and drifting to the ground. ‘she had LV 3. killed, fuck, maybe two monsters? three? i had no fucking clue. my fault.’ You take his hand without thinking, shaking your head.

‘No, Sans, not your fault. Don’t be stupid.’ He glances at your hand around his and you blush a little, but don’t let go. It’s warmer than you expected in your palm; the bones seeming to radiate heat. The crystals of ice on your hands start to melt and break away from your skin.

‘i walked away.’

‘And Iola… She…?’

‘…yeah. i abandoned her. left undyne to finish it off.’ The both of you grimace at his choice of words. ‘we couldn’t even… heh,’ his breathing is a little shallow, and you’re shocked to see him near tears, ‘we couldn’t even use her soul to break the barrier. if a soul gains LV, it becomes corrupt, and… unusable. so we ended up with several people dead and still no freedom.’

Everything has finally clicked into focus. Sans placed his trust in a girl he didn’t know properly, and it backfired- leading to multiple deaths. No wonder he finds it so hard to trust you- or anyone. How does anyone come back from that? Not to mention the guilt that must come from leaving a child to their death. Yikes. How do _you_ feel about that?

You read his face, taking in the conflict; anger at the betrayal, regret at leaving Iola to her death- a mess of self-hatred.

God, you don’t hate him. How could you? He clearly hates what he did enough for the both of you. And yet- you chew your lip, glancing away from him- it still feels like he’s not telling you everything. Like there’s still more to his past, more that he’s gone through.

You look down at his hand, loosely clasped in yours. That doesn’t matter. He’s opened up about this, finally given you an explanation for his mistrust. You loop your fingers through his more firmly.

‘Sans, there was nothing you could have done.’ He stares at a spot in the middle distance, silent. ‘I’m serious! You made a mistake, so has everyone. Your stakes were a little higher than the average person’s, but…’ You squeeze his hand gently, and he finally looks at you, a single tear rolling off his cheekbone. ‘But,’ you reaffirm, ‘It was still just a mistake. Okay?’ He scuffs his face with the inside of his arm, the hoodie catching the tear.

‘okay,’ he says gruffly, giving a rough smile. Sans gets to his feet, pulling you up with the hand you were already holding- which reminds you to let go of it, face flushed pink with embarrassment. You bite your lip, smiling.

‘Sans, now that we’ve, like, basically done group therapy, can we agree to try and trust each other? Because, I mean, I think _I_ trust _you_. And you’ve had a shitty history with humans, but, I’m not Iola. I promise.’ Sans looks at you for a second, then settles into his usual grin, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

‘alright. it’s a deal.’

‘Aw, look at us- new BFFs. Undyne’s gonna be jelly about that- which reminds me, I need her number from you.’ You say, testing out the waters. Too soon to resume joking around? You’re not very good at reading emotional situations.

‘marie, how the fuck do you go to someone’s house and convince them to stop wanting to murder you and instead be your best friend?’ He laughs. Looks like you’re good to go.

‘Eh. Must be my charm.’ You waggle your fingers at him with a grin. ‘Look! They’re melting.’ The ice has almost completely thawed, with the exception of a few pieces still clinging to your palms.

‘lucky you. imagine if they’d been stuck like that forever. some edward scissorhands shit right there.’

‘Elsa from Frozen meets Wolverine. Hey, you know, that would be a good movie. Hollywood, you are welcome.’ As Sans' laughter mingles with yours, echoing through the forest, you find yourself filled with the reassurance- for the first time since you fell- that everything’s gonna be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> helloo, i'm here with chapter 2 of 3 i'll be posting this weekend, hope youse enjoy!  
> this is kind of a heck of a lot longer than usual, so sorry? or you're welcome? idk either way it's long so~  
> all the love to my moral support - queendubstep.tumblr.com  
> annd here's my trashcan of a blog - chickaloho.tumblr.com
> 
> love you all!  
> -dot


	14. Chapter 14

You wake to the feeling of something tickling your brow bone. Slowly opening your eyes- praying that the feeling isn’t a spider- you startle at the sight of chocolate brown eyes inches away from yours.

‘Frisk!’ You yell, laughing, and push them off you, rubbing the spot their thick fringe brushed against. ‘Give a gal some warning!’ Frisk giggles from their landing spot on the floor as you sit up, running a hand through your hair.

‘Man, this sofa is so comfy!’ You grin. You’d always been a morning person; once you were up, you could never go back to sleep.

**You were shouting a bit in your sleep.**

Frisk signs. You square your shoulders, suddenly tense.

‘Oh, I’m sorry bud. I just… Just ignore it.’

**Bad dream?**

‘Uh huh, I get ‘em a lot. Don’t worry your cute lil brain!’ Their face shows worry for all of two seconds, then they break into a smile, giving you a thumbs up.

‘READY TO GO, FRISK?’ Papyrus struts into the room, donning his battle armour as per usual. You’re glad the blanket’s still covering you- you don’t particularly want Papyrus seeing you in just a baggy t-shirt and underwear, especially when it’s either his or his brother’s t-shirt. For Papyrus’ sake as much as your own.

‘Where are you two off to?’

‘TRAINING! I’M GOING TO MAKE FRISK INTO THE THIRD BEST WARRIOR IN THE UNDERGROUND!’

‘Hmm, I wonder who the other two are,’ you smirk. Papyrus puffs his chest, ready to unleash an indignant lecture. ‘Sarcasm!’ You yelp. ‘It’s you and Undyne, you’re the two best in the underground. I got you, Paps.’ He beams, before turning to Frisk.

‘SO, _ARE_ YOU READY?’ Frisk gives a nod, accompanied by a gap-tooth grin and a thumbs up, and leaps to his side. They flex their tiny seven-year-old muscles, and you bite back a laugh. ‘THERE’S BREAKFAST ON THE COUNTER FOR YOU AND MY BROTHER, MARIE-’

‘Aw, thanks bud!’

‘MY PLEASURE! SPEAKING OF MY BROTHER, WOULD YOU MAKE SURE HE WAKES UP WITHIN HALF AN HOUR? I’VE ALREADY WOKEN HIM, BUT I HAVE A SNEAKY SUSPICION HE WENT BACK TO SLEEP.’

‘Oh, uh, no problem. Surprised you haven’t woken me already, too.’ You glance at the clock mounted on the wall. ‘It’s almost 9.’ Not being related to Papyrus had not spared you from his rigorous wake up routine. These past few mornings had been spent groggy and heavy-eyed.

‘WELL, SLEEP IS IMPORTANT FOR HEALTH AND HAPPINESS! BUT I CANNOT LET HIM LAZE THE WEEKEND AWAY. VIGILANCE IS KEY!’ Papyrus says sincerely, hand on his chest. You can’t hold back the smile at his earnest.

‘Well, I’ll make sure he won’t. Hey, Frisk, think I should wake him up with a pillow to the face?’ Frisk snorts with laughter.

**Definitely.**

With that, Papyrus and Frisk leave for the day, with excited smiles and assurances they’ll be back by dinner. Little kids, the both of them.

_And then there were two,_ you think, yawning. Rolling off the sofa and into the kitchen, you smile at the sight of a mountain of pancakes on the countertop, laid on a plate next to a military lineup of various bottles of syrups and sauces. The ketchup bottle held pride of place.

You’d been surprised –and more than a little put off- when Papyrus told you that fresher food, like milk and eggs, came from monsters themselves. It spawned so many questions. Did monsters have a hierarchy? Were there less sentient monsters that were used to create produce?

It got a little less weird in your brain when you realized the monsters were just setting up their own businesses, making a living through the most home-grown produce imaginable. Also knowing it was made by magic was also comforting, for some reason.

You plop two pancakes onto a plate and sit at the table, grabbing a fork.

Either way, magic food is without doubt the best discovery you’ve ever made because it tastes damn good and it doesn’t make you fat. Something to do with it dissolving and going straight to your soul? You shrug to yourself and reach for the syrup.

As you eat, you go over the last week or so in your head. After Sans and you had argued and made up in the forest, the pair of you’d gone back to the house and explained the whole ‘trusting each other’ thing to Papyrus and Frisk. Frisk was still kind of annoyed at Sans at first, but like most kids, they hold grudges for less time than they’d hold a red-hot poker. That was about five days ago.

Now that Sans trusted you a little more, he’d taken the stick out of his ass- and you’d found that the two of you actually got along pretty damn well. Your pun wars were insane, and making Papyrus scream was actually surprisingly fun. When teaming up, your record time for making him screech was 4 seconds (Although you have a suspicion that Papyrus actually enjoys puns as much as anyone).

On top of that, you’d found out that Sans is actually really clever, and since then the two of you have had more than a few nerdy science debates that made Frisk roll their eyes. He hadn’t known- until you’d told him- that Pluto is no longer classified as a planet, and called bullshit on the whole thing. Sans is now a strong supporter of the Viva La Pluto meme.

And… the nightmares. You swallow the last of the pancakes, setting down your fork. They hadn’t been so bad these past few days, but last night had been almost as bad as usual. It was the standard stuff; your dad, turning into your mum, turning into a horrifying monster that ripped you limb from limb. From what Frisk said, you’d talked in your sleep, too. Pretty embarrassing.

Oh, shoot, you should wake up Sans. You glance down at your bare legs- maybe put some clothes on first.

* * *

 

‘Sans?’ You knock on the door, feeling refreshed in another one of Papyrus’ baggy shirts and a pair of ripped leggings you found stashed away at the back of the store. When you bought them the shopkeeper was surprised; informing you that she rarely stocked clothes because everyone down here made their own. When you asked Sans about it, he confirmed it; apparently he made most of his own and Papyrus’ clothes. At some point you need to buy materials and get sewing because you can’t stay in the skelebros’ clothes forever, even if they are incredibly comfy. A grunt from inside the bedroom interrupts your thoughts.

‘Hey, bud. Wakey, wakey.’ The door opens- making you jump a little- to reveal Sans, sleepy-eyed with a lazy grin on his face.

‘what’re you talkin’ about, wakey wakey. i’ve been up for-’ he pauses to yawn mid-sentence. ‘hours.’

‘Uh huh, somehow I don’t believe you. There’s pancakes downstairs in the kitchen, Paps and Frisk went out for the day.’ Sans nods and pads down the stairs to the kitchen with you in pursuit. You sit at the kitchen table and watch him get food.

After loading up his plate with pancakes, he takes a seat opposite you at the table.

‘so. plans for today?’ Sans asks, squeezing a mountainous dollop of ketchup onto his food. You resist the urge to shudder.

‘Eh.’ You shrug.

‘tired?’

‘Yup.’

‘movie marathon?’

‘Yup.’

‘just like yesterday?’

‘You bet.’ The two of you grin at each other, before he goes back to his pancakes, shrugging.

‘might as well make the most of the weekend.’ You nod, smiling a little, and glance at the makeshift calendar you’d made that was strung up on the wall. You’d been in the Underground a total of 8 nights- one night spent in the ruins, the rest in Snowdin. It felt like longer. Today was a Sunday, meaning you and Sans had an actual excuse to laze around- everyone lazed around on Sundays. Except for Papyrus and Frisk, of course.

‘Oh, you know what I fancy?’ You say, a sudden craving setting in. ‘Cookies.’

‘really? right now?’

‘Yes, right now! Dude. Magic cookies. I need to try that shit out.’ He huffs a sleepy laugh, leaning his skull on his hand.

‘wellp, pretty sure we have the ingredients. you go right ahead.’ You squeak excitedly and jump to the nearest cupboard, rummaging through it for flour and chocolate chips.

‘Homemade snacks for the mooviee!’ You crow in a sing song voice. ‘These are gonna be the best cookies ever.’ 

* * *

 

‘Oh my god, these are the worst cookies ever.’ You set down the tray on the hob, shaking off your oven gloves. The cookies were too close together, and you think you may have accidentally used self-raising flour, it was hard to tell with faded labels. Either way, the cookies squished together into a gigantic doughy blob. You swing round to look at Sans in the living room, face grief-stricken, to find him struggling to keep a straight face. One look at your expression sets him off; snickering with laughter, pounding the sofa, eyes streaming.

‘marie, what the fuck?’ he guffaws, and you pout at him with fake-misery.

‘Sans, I’ve become a pinterest fail.’

‘what’s pinterest?’ You sigh, placing a finger to your temple.

‘Yet another day of my humour going unappreciated. When will the nightmare end.’

‘relatable.’

‘Hey now, I like your puns.’

Sans smirks, shifting from the sofa onto his feet and walking over next to you at the oven.

‘yeah, but that’s you,’ he teases, poking the gigantic mound of cookie, and you elbow him. ‘hey! kidding, kidding. anyways, we can still eat this. magic’ll make it taste good, even with your cooking.’ You elbow him again.

‘ah! alright, jeez. let’s just cut it up and eat the chunks, it’s basically the same.’

‘Blech. Chunks is such a gross word.’

‘are you five years old?’

‘Apparently.’

As Sans grabs a knife and starts cutting up your horrible attempt at baking, you flick through the DVD collection. There’s a common theme.

‘Hey, Sans? Who’s Mettaton and why are you their biggest fan?’ He laughs, more than a little sarcastically.

‘heh, i am most definitely not. papyrus, however, loves the guy.’

‘Huh.’ You slide one out of its case- ‘Mettaton the Movie XXV’ and slot it into the player, which is actually a thick red machine, fit with flashing lights and wires, designed by one of the monsters down here: Alphys. You’d heard a lot about her over the past few days- and you’re pretty sure Undyne has a massive crush on her. Which reminds you to check your phone.

**/Undyne, 34 minutes ago**

**MARIE FFS if u send me another pun i will break ur fingers!!**

Ah, it’s good to know you’re loved.

You look up, startled, at the sudden sound of a smooth, robotic voice coming out of the TV.

‘ _Hello_ , darlings, and _welcome_ to my movie.’ Oh, right, you put the DVD in. Fuck, you made yourself jump. ‘Click play to access all of… _thiiiis_.’ Mettaton flicks a leg into the view of the camera, and you wrinkle your nose. Yikes. You mean, sure, those are some nice legs. But yikes.

Sans walks through from the kitchen, balancing a plate piled high with cookie pieces and two mugs of tea between his short arms. You stifle a laugh. At the sight of Mettaton on the screen, he sticks out a blue tongue in disgust.

‘sure you wanna watch that overgrown calculator? because i’ve got superhero movies in the back,’ he offers. You blink away the questions that the tongue brought about- and the vague urge to touch it, which would definitely be weird- and break into a wide smile, taking a mug and several cookies from his load.

‘Sounds much better.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys gals and non-binary pals  
> it's the third chapter of the three i've been throwin' up! so yes those three in a row were to kind of make up for the absolute chaos that has been my upload schedule, but we should be right back on track now- back to tuesdays, thursdays and saturdays.  
> as always, big love to - queendubstep.tumblr.com - what a peach  
> and here's my tumblr - chickaloho.tumblr.com  
> i just did one of those OC answer tags about marie so follow my blog if you wanna see that and other titbits and doodles about the story~  
> lots of love as always!  
> -dot


	15. fish hugs, board games

Frisk sets down a bowl of salsa on the table, face bright with excitement. This whole night was their idea- a board game night, with Undyne as special guest.

They’d found an old monopoly game at the shop that was almost completely intact; although the money was crumpled up and unreadable due to water damage. Frisk and you had spent the whole day making new bank notes.

Papyrus had been making snacks- now piled high on a plate next to the salsa- non-stop since he’d got back from work, and Undyne was due to arrive right about now.

Three ground-shaking thumps on the door sound out. You raise your eyebrows and smile at Frisk: speak of the devil.

Papyrus opens it with a flourish, and Undyne leaps in, a shark grin plastered across her face.

‘Hey, Paps!’ She yelps, sweeping Papyrus into a tight, one-armed hug.

‘HELLO, UNDYNE!’ He puffs, obviously fighting for air. She lets him go after a few second, instead focusing on Frisk.

‘Friisk!’ She crows, crossing the room to them in two great strides, picking them up by their armpits and squeezing them tight. They s her back, snorting with laughter, and you feign resentment, crossing your arms.

‘Oh, I see how it is, Frisk. You won’t hug me but you’ll hug the trout.’ Frisk was so cute, sometimes you just _had_ to cuddle them- which was always met by a squawk of protest, usually because you were interrupting an important action figure battle with Papyrus.

‘Who are you calling trout?!’ Undyne roars, and releases Frisk to grab you instead. Her muscled arms pull all the air from your lungs. Unable to form words, you sign _Mercy! Mercy!_ and she lets you go with amicable laughter.

That’s another thing that’s become evident in the six days since you met her- you and Undyne get on like a house on fire. Literally, ha, ha. You’d have to save that one to annoy her with.

Her texts were constantly arriving, your phone buzzing non-stop. Most of them were dirty jokes. Undyne really, really liked dirty jokes.

‘How’re you guys doing?’ She says, kicking off her battered black army boots. ‘Haven’t started without me, have you?’

‘Nah, this one’s been waiting for you.’ You say, mussing Frisk’s hair. They swipe playfully at your arm, just like a cat. Undyne put them in a headlock, smirking.

‘You’re a cute little nerd, Frisk.’ She releases them, only to slide into her seat at the table and thump it with her fist. ‘ _RIGHT_! Who’s ready to be beaten by me?’

‘NOT ME!’ Papyrus cries, jumping into the seat next to her.

‘sounds good to me.’ You look up with a smile as Sans’ voice travels down to you. He’d been taking a nap after a much-dreaded Monday at work, but has finally resurfaced at the top of the stairs.

‘HELLO, BROTHER!’ Papyrus chirps. Frisk sets up the board as Sans makes his way down the stairs and takes a seat next to you.

‘Sleep well?’ You ask.

‘like a baby.’ He grins at you, then nods at Frisk, who’s holding up a handful of board pieces with a questioning look. ‘i’ll be the hat. can’t wait to con-hat-ulate the winner of this game.’

‘BROTHER!!’

After a few seconds of Papyrus’ eyes bulging at Sans’ smug face, the game begins; you as the boat, Papyrus as the car, Undyne as the shoe and Frisk as the dog.

It’s… eventful. Every time Undyne loses money she slams her fist onto the table in rage, upsetting all the pieces. Papyrus seems to have no actual idea of how the game works, despite being having insisted on being the banker. Any time anyone comes close to being bankrupt, he beams and offers them a handful of the homemade money, claiming ‘IT’S WHAT FRIENDS ARE FOR!’ It’s adorable, but makes for a pretty dull game. Frisk is quiet- their poker face is exquisite- but completely dominating everyone, owning pretty much the entire board. Sans became bankrupt in an impossibly short amount of time; which he didn’t seem in the least bit bothered about, refusing to take Papyrus’ illegal money and opting instead to munch his way through the crackers and salsa. Every so often he blinks, hard; trying to wake himself up a little. He’s exhausted.

You’ve been plodding along for the last hour, as both Undyne and Papyrus went bankrupt. Effortlessly mediocre- never winning, but never bad enough to lose. _Until now, at least_ , you think, handing over the last of your money to Frisk with a sigh.

‘You win, bud.’ They pump their fists in triumph, gleeful.

**Sucker!** You snort with laughter. Who knew such a sweet kid could be so competitive.

‘HAH! Yeah, you won. Thought I’d go easy on you. GET READY FOR ROUND TWO!’ Undyne bellows, competitive as ever. You and Sans exchange a glance.

‘Uhh, I’m not ready for round two.’

‘ditto.’

Papyrus drums his fists on the table in delight.

‘IT’S JUST YOU AND ME, UNDYNE! TAG TEAM AGAINST THE DEVIOUS FRISK!’ Frisk smiles slyly, sliding the board pieces back to the starting point. These guys just don’t know when to quit.

‘You wanna take a seat outside? Kinda hot in here,’ you ask Sans, scraping back your chair.

‘s’long as we can take the crackers,’ he smirks, picking up the plate. The others don’t even notice, already enthralled in what is possibly the most boring game of all time. You follow Sans to the door, suppressing your laughter.

He flops down on the front step outside, sighing contentedly.

‘wow. that game? too much. i mean, the competitiveness. yikes.’

‘Sans, you were almost asleep ten minutes in.’

‘yeah. see? _almost_.’

‘Oh my god.’ You say sarcastically, but you can’t keep the smile off your face. This past week has just been so… easy. Making friends, opening up- with all of them, but especially with Sans- has just been so much easier than anything you’re used to. Even yesterday, watching movies and eating semi-raw cookie dough.

With a human in that situation you would be constantly paranoid about your appearance, their intentions, how they perceived your own intentions, whether you were eating too much, whether they didn’t really like this movie and were only watching it to please you. It was so much less complicated with Sans. You were able to just… be. Without overthinking the implications of every last action. You knew it was probably your dad’s fault that you did that. A childhood of being scrutinized for every last action; where every failure would end in punishment, and, when you were older, beatings- on a psychological level, it made sense that you were a little paranoid now. But there was none of that here, underground. Monsters were just nice, because that’s who they were as people.

You look at Sans, smiling, and he raises an eyebrow.

‘penny for your thoughts.’

‘That all they’re worth?’ You smirk.

‘nah, you’re right. that’s too much.’

‘For your information, I’m thinking about how much of a nerd you are.’

‘no way, same for me about you! that’s crazy. psychic connection right there.’

You snort with laughter and give him a light shove, pushing him off the step and into the snow.

‘wow, snow need to be rude.’

‘Oh, my god. That was so bad.’

Yeah, it’s easy down here. You like it. You suppose- as you groan at Sans’ fresh batch of snow puns- that you could get used to being stuck underground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tuuuesday update  
> how are y'all doing, good? aw i'm so glad! not good? i'm sorry bud, get yourself something nice. treat yoself.  
> guys. for real, i have been getting up at 6 in the morning and getting to bed at 1am for 3 weeks solid. i'm dying a little. send help and ice cream.  
> i kind of hate this chapter because i wrote it in an hour while falling asleep and it's short aS SHIT i liked the length of the argument chapter  
> I'M SORRY  
> much love to the great and wonderful - queendubstep.tumblr.com  
> here's my less great less wonderful blog - chickaloho.tumblr.com  
> and i will see you all on thursday!  
> -dot


	16. throwing spears, shielding ice

‘Okay, cool, we’ll be there in 15 minutes,’ You say into the phone, clicking it off.

Undyne had rung up to invite the lot of you over to her house, to make a start on your training, and apparently to meet Doctor Alphys. Naturally you’d agreed, not just because you’d finally meet the genius behind basically all the luxuries you own down here, but also because _magic training_! If you can’t go to Hogwarts, you figure Undyne’s training is the next best thing. Time to rally the troops.

 

Frisk and Papyrus’ action figure battle is cancelled without much resentment, the only obstacle being Frisk pouting when you make them put on a jacket-

‘I don’t care, Frisk, it’s wet in Waterfall. Obviously. Waterfall’s a pretty bad name, guys, just saying.’

 

You had slightly preempted a struggle getting Sans out of the house, picturing having to drag him out of a nap into standing position- but as soon as you tell him about the training he’s up and awake, hands in pockets. Turns out he really wants to see you train.

‘s’interesting. i’m a scientist at heart, y’know,’ is all he says on the matter, but his expression is a little sheepish. You raise an eyebrow but don’t push it. Let him have his reasons.

Outside you watch Frisk and Paps briefly kick snow at each other as Sans locks up the house, then he grins at you and you’re off- only 5 minutes late. It’s a miracle.

‘So, Paps, any tips for training?’ You ask while walking.

‘OH, LOTS! YOU’RE LUCKY YOU HAVE THE GREAT PAPYRUS’ WISDOM AND EXPERIENCE TO AID YOU.’

‘Sure am,’ you agree, figuring a little ego stroking can’t hurt. Despite Papyrus’ bold claims and pompous air; his emotional fragility and insecurities are visible three feet away. Watching his face light up at your words is the best feeling. He’s so innocent, it’s easy to forget that he’s looking after his family just like Sans is, just in a different way. When Sans was at his most defensive, at his most aggressive- Papyrus was the one to step in, keep Sans’ emotions in check, give you a chance. You smile up at him as the three of you enter Waterfall, trying to listen as he launches into a lengthy lecture about defensive stances versus offensive stances, the importance of timing in battle, how magical weapons are linked to the soul.

Your ears prick at that last point.

‘I’m sorry, weapons are linked to the soul?’

‘YES, THAT’S RIGHT! SANS CAN EXPLAIN THE REASONS, I FORGET.’ Sans shrugs with a good-natured grin, looking at you.

‘pretty simple. our magic comes from the soul, so obviously the magic creating the weapon’s linked to it. the term ‘weapon’ is pretty loose. it applies to any offensive magic, so in your case your weapon is based around the ice/water situation you’ve got goin’ on.’ You nod, chewing a lip.

‘Huh. Makes sense.’ Frisk tugs your arm and you look down to see the signs forming.

**Ice?**

You’d mentioned your water powers to Frisk and Papyrus, but hadn’t really gone into much detail. You’d figured at the time that it would be a little bit awkward to explain the context behind you making your hands into giant ice spikes, especially since things were finally running hitch-free between you and Sans.

‘Yeah, uh, one time when I was emotional my water powers started up, but got really cold really, really fast. Turned into ice around my hands in like, seconds. Weird, huh?’ You sign along as you speak, which you’ve started to do more these past few weeks- you want Frisk to feel accepted.

**That’s so cool!** They grin, and you smirk.

‘That’s me. Coolest kid on the block.’ Sans snorts with laughter and you smack his shoulder. ‘What are _you_ laughing at?’

‘pfft, me? nothing. wasn’t laughing. what’s a laughing?’ You roll your eyes, failing to hold back a smile, but before you can form a retort the path opens up to show Undyne’s house. Undyne’s outside, sparring with a training dummy on her front yard. Beside the training mat a reptilian monster sits, a huge book open on her lap. This must be Alphys. Her entire body is covered in butter-yellow scales that grow to an impressive crest at the back of her head. She’s wearing a plain white lab coat that has stains all up the sleeves, as well as large bottle-top glasses that are slipping down her snout a little.

Every few seconds she looks up to watch Undyne, blushes, then buries her nose back in the book.

 

It takes a moment for Undyne to notice you, but when she does she greets you warmly.

‘Hey, punks!’ Her chest is rising and falling a little quicker than normal and there are beads of sweat on her scaly forehead, but other than that she shows no symptoms of the absolute ass-kicking she was giving that dummy just a few seconds ago.

‘HELLO, UNDYNE!’

‘sup.’

‘Hey!’

**Hello!**

Grinning, she turns to Alphys, who set down her book and stood up as soon as you arrived. She has anxiously padded from foot to foot ever since, as if unsure if she should join the group or not. Undyne beckons her over and her face alights with a relieved smile.

‘Marie, this is Alphys. She makes all your junk.’

‘H-h-h-hello.’

‘Hey Alphys!’ You wave, despite being three feet away from her. Awkward.

‘So, Marie. Ready to get totally ripped like me?’

‘Uh-?’

‘UNDYNE! WHY DON’T YOU AND I SET THE EXAMPLE, SO MARIE KNOWS WHAT TRAINING WILL BE LIKE!’

‘Hah! Good idea, Papyrus.’ You can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. You want to control your powers, but- you eye the dummy, spilling stuffing everywhere- you want to know what’s in store.

Sans, Frisk and you take a seat with Alphys by the front door of the house, while Undyne and Papyrus face each other, about three metres apart. Papyrus does a few ridiculous poses; Undyne rolls her shoulders and cracks her knuckles. You gnaw at your fingernails.

‘Ready, Papyrus?’

‘NYEH! YOU KNOW IT.’ Papyrus crows, and your eyes widen at the sight of a large bone forming in his hand. _Heh, that’s what she said._ He twirls it like a baton before thrusting it forward. At that simple movement, more bones rise from the floor and hurtle towards Undyne, forcing her to leap over them like hurdles. The bones move at impressive speed, but Undyne dodges nimbly, landing with poise. Papyrus nods, then clicks his fingers. You frown as a few bones turn blue, and turn to Sans.

‘What does that do?’

‘if the bones are blue, you gotta stand still. if you’re moving, they’ll do damage.’

‘Huh,’ you say, looking back at the battle. Undyne is dodging and freezing in all the right places, hardly breaking a sweat.

‘Hah! You’re gonna have to do better than tha-’ Her taunting is interrupted by a small bone that comes hurtling at her from the side, hitting her mouth. She grabs the bone, and as she pulls it away from her lip you see a little bubble of blood.

She crushes it to dust in her fist, and you feel a slight chill. A little reminder she could kill you with one hand. Nice. _Is she angry?_ You wonder briefly, but she lets out a bark of pleased laughter.

‘Papyrus! So sneaky, I love it! Fuhuhu! Right.’ Her features set with determination. ‘My turn.’ She makes a vague gesture with her left hand while her spear forms in her right, and you see a shield of the same colour form in Papyrus’ arm.

‘A shield?’ You ask out loud, without really meaning to.

‘Yup!’ Undyne calls over her shoulder, before drawing back her right arm and hurling the spear at Papyrus. He doesn’t flinch, holding out the shield. As soon as it makes contact, the spear disappears.

Undyne’s lip curls into a smile, and she grabs another spear out of nothing. She starts to fire them off at impossible speed, throwing them and forming new ones in quick succession. Several curve round to attack from the sides and back. Papyrus grits his teeth in concentration, but stands his ground, simply twisting his torso round to catch the spears on his shield.

 

After a minute or two of the all-out attack, Undyne throws one final spear, breathing heavily, before stretching her arms above her head. The shield on Papyrus’ arm sputters and fades away.

‘Alright. I think that’s enough warming up. Papyrus? Great practice. Work on keeping your stance lowered even when turning with the shield.’ Papyrus’ eyesockets sparkle at the hard-earned praise.

‘THANK YOU, UNDYNE!’

‘Marie, you’re up,’ Undyne says, voice surprisingly encouraging. You didn’t know she had this soft side to her, but you suppose she’s not Head of the Royal Guard for nothing. You need to know how to train recruits in order to get that title.

You scramble to your feet and take your place opposite Undyne, dusting gravel and moss off your butt.

‘Alright, we’re gonna take this slow. Let’s try out your reflexes.’ With a flick of her wrist, you feel a tight band forming around your forearm; a green shield identical to the one Papyrus was using. At the same time an invisible force curls up your legs and roots you to the ground.

‘Uh. Am I meant to be- woah!’ You flail your arms, almost losing your balance entirely. You narrow your eyes as Frisk bursts out laughing, only to find Sans shaking with laughter alongside them. He tosses you a guilty wink and you relent from giving him a death stare. You’re blushing a little.

‘Fuhuhu! Stuck to the ground? Yes you are.’

‘Al…right. Okay. I got this,’ you say, bending your knees a little and holding the shield up. ‘Lay ‘em on me! But uh, nicely.’ Undyne smirks, reaching for her spear. She tosses it lazily towards you. You squint your eyes, grimacing, holding the shield at arm’s length.

‘Eyes open, always!’ Undyne barks, and you jump, snapping them open wide in time to see the spear hit the shield. There’s no jolt, no force, not even a sound. It just disappears as soon as it makes contact with the green surface. _Alright,_ you think, squaring your shoulders and smiling a little. _I’m game._

Training has begun.

The spears start to come thick and fast, mostly from the front but some heading for your sides, one or two swinging behind you. The whole not-moving-your-feet thing takes some getting used to, but you think you’ve got it figured out.

You yelp as a spear takes you by surprise, jumping to your right. You block it at the last second, but your heart is left pounding. _Don’t count your fucking chickens, Marie_ , you remind yourself.

‘Hah! Almost had ya then. Right,’ Undyne says, waving away the shield. You take a moment to relish the ability to move your feet. ‘Let’s get down to the good stuff. Your magic.’ You clap your hands.

‘Yay, magic.’

Undyne goes through the basics with you; through what all monsters are taught when in school and learning to use their magic. A lot of it is to do with thinking and feeling, however, so it’s hard for you to gauge whether you’re doing it right, and almost impossible for Undyne to tell you.

After an hour of feeling like you’re in a shitty meditation session with a local vegan club, with literally zero results; Sans looks to be asleep, Papyrus and Frisk have wandered off to play on the piano, and Alphys has immersed herself in her book. As for you; you’re hot, flustered, and frustrated as all hell. What the fuck is wrong with your magic?

 

‘Okay, so the traditional technique’s not working. Y’know what? We’re going trial and error.’ Undyne chews her bottom lip. You wince a little- those teeth are sharp. After a second of thought she shrugs, forms a spear and flings it at you.

You yell in surprise- no time to think of what to shout, just a random panicked sound- and you don’t have time to duck, all you can do is throw your hand out as if that will stop it, you hear someone call out-

The spear never hits.

You open your eyes, slowly. Gingerly. Blink once. Twice. Take in the sight ahead of you.

A giant spike of pale blue ice has erupted from the floor, forming around the spear and freezing it in place.

You peer through the translucent surface, seeing the wobbly image of the house, of Undyne. Gingerly, you reach out and touch it. The ice is cold to the touch, but not wet like normal ice. Like frozen glass.

_This is so fucking Frozen. Like, this exact scene happened in Frozen. Fuck my life,_ you want to say. Instead, you settle for screaming ‘UNDYNE, WHAT THE FUCK?!’

Looking at her, she’s in absolute awe, mouth open, eyes wide.

‘That was so awesome!’

‘you could have _killed_ her!’ Sans growls, and you nod pointedly, expression incredulous.

‘But, I didn’t!’ Undyne cheers, running up to you and giving you a hug.

‘M-M-Marie, are you o-o-okay?’ Alphys stutters, pushing her glasses up on her snout, and you give her a weak smile.

‘Uh, I guess? No thanks to _someone_.’ You twist to glare at Undyne, whose arms are still round your neck, but you can already feel the anger fading. It’s replaced by curiosity, amazement even, at your newfound power. _She was just helping, in her own way._ ‘Ever do that again, and I will…’ You don’t know how to finish the sentence, so instead make your point by gesturing to the big ice spike you’ve created in the middle of her front yard.

‘You’ll make me a new lawn decoration, cool, cool.’ She jokes, and you laugh despite yourself.

‘Yeah. Next time it’ll be a beautiful ice sculpture of a garden gnome.’ The two of you snort with laughter as Alphys and Sans exchange a look.

‘so we’re all cool with the whole almost-murdering-marie thing?’ Sans asks, amused but incredulous. You shrug and, made bold by adrenaline, return his wink from earlier.

‘Eh. Sure.’

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey friends  
> sorry i missed the thursday update, i was having a Bad Day TM in terms of mental health  
> hope youse are all well and lovely as always  
> check out my beta reader - queendubstep.tumblr.com - they keep me sane  
> and my blog's right heree - chickaloho.tumblr.com
> 
> lots of love  
> -dot


	17. flower tea, glam robot

‘Here ya go.’ Undyne sets down a mug full of a thick, honey-coloured substance.

‘Oh, uh, thanks! This is tea?’

‘Yeah, golden flower tea. The BEST!’ She pumps her fist in the air, before scraping up a chair to sit by Alphys. You shrug and take a sip. It’s syrupy and sweet, thinner than honey but way too thick to be any normal tea. When you swallow, it sends fizzing sensations all down your throat.

‘Woah,’ you say.

‘Good, right?’ Undyne grins. ‘So hey, Alph, how’s work going?’ Alphys looks around, surprised.

‘M-m-me? Oh, uh, f-f-fine. G-great. Everyth-th-thing’s fine!’ You resist the urge to frown. Sounds like something someone who’s totally not fine would say. Alphys clicks her claws together, staring pointedly at the table.

‘Oh. Alright,’ Undyne says, joining her in staring at the table. Yikes. Is she going red? You’ve never seen Undyne awkward before. You smirk a little. You can’t wait to tease her about it later.

‘MARIE, I FIND IT INTERESTING THAT YOUR MAGIC CHANGES FROM WATER TO ICE AT WILL!’

‘Hmm?’ You look up at Paps, and notice that he is making a gargantuan effort to change the subject.

‘WHY DOES IT DO THAT? DO YOU KNOW?’

‘What, go from ice to water? No.’ You scratch your nose, thinking it over. ‘I know that I get the water automatically whenever I’m really emotional. It’s actually…’ You frown. ‘It’s actually gotten really hot before, too.’

‘what emotion were you feeling at the time?’ Sans suddenly pipes up, interested.

‘Uh…’ You think back. Oh, _yeah_ , it was when you realized you hadn’t murdered anyone. Hah, good times. ‘Relief, I guess.’

‘so, the water was hot when you felt good,’ he says, waiting for you to catch on to what he’s thinking.

‘Good…You're right. Any other time I’ve got the water it’s been because of a negative emotion, and it’s been cold. You think it’s linked to my emotions?’

‘wouldn’t surprise me,’ Sans shrugs, grinning.

‘And the ice… I got it when I was angry, or-’ You pause to glare at Undyne- ‘About to _die_.’ She shrugs, laughing.

‘Hey, we’ve been over this.’ You choose to ignore her smug look.

‘So, the temperature’s linked to my emotional spectrum. Extreme temperatures are linked to extreme emotions.’ You say, drumming your fingers on the table.

‘Th-th-that’s so interesting. I w-wonder how it w-would react to ex-t-t-tremely positive emotions, n-not just r-r-relief but j-joy. L-love, even.’ Alphys muses, fiddling with her glasses. You nod.

‘So, what I’m hearing is, you’re a human kettle,’ Undyne grins, and Alphys giggles a little, before flushing red.

‘Only if you keep me happy,’ you say, raising an eyebrow. You look over at Sans- who’s sat next to you- to find him grinning at you. ‘What’s with you?’ you ask, smiling bemusedly.

‘eh, nothing,’ he assures you, a pale blue spreading across his cheekbones. Undyne and Alphys exchange a look.

You’re about to ask them what _that_ was supposed to mean, but a loud knock sounds out at the door. Frisk jumps up from where they’ve been lying on the floor, colouring, and tugs the door open to reveal… Mettaton? You think that’s his name, the actor that Papyrus adores. Glancing at Papyrus, you can practically see hearts thumping in his eye sockets- he’s dribbling a little. Papyrus is utter Mettaton trash.

When watching Mettaton in his cringy films, you didn’t see it, but in real life you certainly do. His fringe sweeps across his eyes in a flawless wave of black, eyes painted in bright yet tasteful colours. Every inch of fabric on his body is shiny or sparkly or both. He stands with breath-taking confidence on two toned black legs, covered by glossy pink boots.

‘Hello, beauties!’ He strikes a pose in the doorway as he talks, looking through heavy-lidded eyes at the group of you.

You think Papyrus might faint.

‘Goodness, and who are you, darling?’ Mettaton asks graciously, striding over to you without a sideways glance at Frisk, who held the door open for him. He smiles and waggles his fingers at Alphys in a gracious wave, before focusing all his attention on you. He takes your hand and kisses it for just a second too long. Wow, okay, so he’s very good at making you feel uncomfortable.

‘Uh. Marie,’ you say, trying not to stumble over your words. Mettaton leans on the table, never taking his eyes off you, blocking out literally everyone else in the group. Is this guy for real? He’s not even been here two minutes.

‘Mettaton, I didn’t know you were coming.’ Undyne asks, her tone not aggressive, but certainly not friendly.

‘Thought I’d drop in,’ Mettaton murmurs over his shoulder, then looks back at you. ‘Marie, what a gorgeous name! French, is it not? So romantic.’

‘Yeah, it’s French,’ you say, a little nervously.

‘Beautiful name for a beautiful girl,’ he purrs, touching a finger to your knee.

He’s only been in the room about two seconds, but there’s something about his smile that’s just… predatorial. You don’t like how he’s blocking you off from the rest. He reminds you of Johnny. Your head is suddenly full of that night, of him whispering words into your ear, a hand on your leg, a tug on your arm.

Nope, nope, nope.

You get to your feet quickly. ‘Anyone want more tea?’ You ask, voice a little high. Sans and Undyne both speak at the same time, faces grim.

‘I do.’

‘i do.’

The three of you walk into the kitchen area, leaving Mettaton to Papyrus, Alphys and Frisk, who has abandoned their colouring to talk to the robot.

 

‘you okay?’ Sans asks, voice surprisingly soft. Your nerves must be visible on your face, because his expression is unusually gentle. No doubt he’s linked your worry to your past. Undyne, on the other hand, is stormy-faced.

‘He’s being a jerk. Want me to get him to leave?’

‘No, it’s okay,’ you reassure them both. ‘I’m fine. He’s not doing any harm, I’m just…’ You bite your lip. Take the kettle to the tap, fill it up, bring it to the stove.

‘Just associating him with someone else.’ Sans turns the stove dial up for you, brow furrowed. You poke the kettle closer to the centre of the flame.

‘you wanna leave? he doesn’t have to know it’s cos of him.’ Sans asks. You hesitate, look back at the table. Without you there, Mettaton is actually engaging. You watch him beam at Frisk, gasping at their drawings and offering to braid their hair; smile at Papyrus, scribble an autograph four times over without questioning it or making fun of him; laugh _with_ Alphys, not at her. You relax a little.

‘No, it’s alright. I can’t let my brain convince me every flirty person is bad. I’ll just tell him to back off a bit if it gets to be too much.’ Undyne puts an arm round your shoulders and gives you a quick squeeze, as the kettle starts to whistle.

‘Your choice, punk, but just say the word and I’ll break his bones!’ She says cheerily.

‘Does he have bones?’ you ask, curious.

‘Um?’ Undyne pauses. ‘Huh. I don’t… I don’t think so. Either way, I’ll kick in his metallic teeth, no problem!’ You laugh a little and nod.

‘Thanks, Dy.’ As Undyne goes back to the table, Sans lingers at your side.

‘i’ll leave the teeth-kicking to undyne, but we can leave anytime, kay?’ You smile at him, carefully pouring out three mugs of tea.

‘Got it. Uh, Sans?’ He meets your eye, giving you a grin. ‘Thanks. For everything.’ He grins wider, shrugging.

‘it’s nothin’.’

‘Oh. Well, in that case I take it back.’ You smirk, and he nudges you, laughing. ‘Hey! Hot tea!’ You yelp, as the tea slops onto your fingers.

‘what’s it to you, you can literally make tea through your hands,’ he teases, but your eyes widen.

‘Dude. I could just make tea whenever. Ohmygod, best power ever!’ You cheer, stirring sugar into Undyne’s mug. ‘You want sugar?’

‘nah. i‘m sweet enough.’

‘Oh, obviously.’ You smirk, handing him his cup. ‘Here, make yourself useful.’

The two of you walk back to the table, and you very pointedly sit next to Sans, so Mettaton won’t do the whole cornering-you-off thing again.

‘So, Mettaton, you make movies?’ You ask, sliding Undyne’s mug along the table toward her. He looks at how far away from him you’ve sat, and seems to get it. _Please don’t be weird about it,_ you pray. He looks put-out for a second, maybe two, before smiling warmly. You don’t think he was trying to be over the top; maybe just trying a little too hard to recruit a new fan. But the way he smiles now, a little apologetic- he gets it. You relax.

‘Yes, I do indeed! How sweet of you to ask.’ He launches into a recollection of his three latest movies- which sound incredibly similar. Lots of rose petals, lots of leg action. As he talks, you bite back a private smile. You’re kind of proud of yourself? Gah, imagine that. The grip that your past has on you is loosening, you can feel it.

Sans’ foot knocks against yours and you look at him. The two of you share a smile. Yep, definitely loosening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoo, it's the tuesday update!  
> i wrote this in my local cluttered cafe, and there was a really cute girl sitting opposite from me  
> idk why i told you that but there you go
> 
> hope youse are all well!  
> beautiful cinnamon roll, too precious, too pure - queendubstep.tumblr.com  
> my trashcan - chickaloho.tumblr.com  
> mwah! a kiss from me  
> dot


	18. sea whisky, pyjama parties

You knock on Undyne’s door, shifting your bag- stuffed full of pyjamas, pillows and junk food- on your shoulder. Girls night with Alphys and Undyne, yay! Undyne yanks the door open- nearly off its hinges- and yells, ‘MARIEE!’

‘Undyyne!’ You cheer, stepping in and tossing your bag to the floor. God, the week with the skelebros has been lovely- but girl time is a welcome relief.

‘M-m-m-marie!’ Alphys calls from Undyne’s room happily, and the confidence in her voice tells you they’ve been drinking already.

‘Been drinking without me?’ You tease, and Alphys giggles.

‘M-m-maybe a little…’

‘Alright, lemme catch up,’ you say, taking a running jump onto the bed. You squeal. ‘Dy, you have a water bed?’ Undyne pauses in her drink-making to poke her head round the door.

‘Marie, you burst that bed, I burst you.’

‘Sorry,’ you laugh, and Alphys bursts into tipsy giggles all over again. Undyne brings you a cupful of alcohol, handing Alphys another, and flops onto the wooden floor of her bedroom.

‘Mm, thank you,’ you say, taking a sip of the drink- you’re really thirsty, and this’ll be the first time you’ve been drunk since you fell into the underground. You hate to admit it- because it’s another link to your dad- but you love the feeling of being drunk. The drink’s sickly-sweet, tasting more like lemonade than alcohol. ‘Damn, this is good,’ you say, downing the rest of it.

‘Fucking hell, Marie, go steady!’ Undyne says, eyebrow raised.

‘The d-d-drink is m-m-made with m-magic, so it goes straight to your soul,’ Alphys explains excitedly. ‘It g-gets you d-d-drunk really q-quickly!’

‘Dude,’ you say, looking into the bottom of your cup. ‘Do you know how much humans would pay to get drunk that quickly from something that tastes that nice?’

‘Okay, enough with the nerd stuff!’ Undyne yells, pounding the ground with her fists. ‘Drinking games!’

You roll your eyes, smiling. ‘Pssht. Alright. Truth or Dare?’ You suggest, lying on your side and leaning your head on your elbow. You share a knowing look with Undyne. After the training yesterday, you’d immediately texted Undyne to ask if she liked Alphys. Well, you say ‘asked’. More like ‘confirmed’. Either way, Undyne had poured her heart out about it, and so the two of you had planned a girly sleepover, so Undyne could confess everything. Undyne flushes red, and you try not to laugh.

Tonight’s gonna be a long night.

* * *

 ‘Nooo, Undyne!’ You slur, flapping a hand at her.

‘It’s t-truths! You h-have to answer! It’s l-l-like, the l-l-law!’ Alphys complains. ‘R-r-rate Undyne out of t-t-ten!’

‘Urgh. Okay. Gun to my head,’ you say, looking at Undyne’s face. ‘Four!’

‘YOU WHAT?’ Undyne squeals. You crack up laughing.

‘Fourrr outta ten.’

‘Rude!’ Undyne flings a pillow at you, missing by a metre. Wow, she must be really drunk for her aim to be that bad.

‘Joking! Jeeeez. Okay, hmm. Gonna have to go with a solid 9.’

‘That’s more like it,’ Undyne nods her drunken approval. ‘Okayy, Alphys! Truth or Dare?’ Undyne points at her.

‘Heehee, truth!’

‘Do you have a crush on anyone?’ Undyne asks without hesitation, cheeks flushed.

‘Ohh, shit!’ You yell, before covering your mouth. It’s been like three hours; she’s finally doing it.

Alphys blushes bright red, eyes wide behind her glasses.

‘U-u-um…’ The room is silent. Undyne has given up trying to play it off coolly and instead just watches Alphys, face filled with a desperate curiosity. Alphys looks back at her. Something passes between the two of them, and you suddenly feel like you shouldn’t be here. This is something private.

‘Y-y-yeah, I d-do,’ Alphys stutters, looking deep into Undyne’s eyes.

Your eyes widen, and you look back and forth between the two of them excitedly, as if watching a tennis match.

‘You do, huh?’ Undyne tries to give her signature shark-grin, but it’s tentative, unsure. ‘Like… who?’

Alphys grows even more red, crying, ‘H-h-hey! It’s m-m-my turn to ask! Who do _you_ like?’

‘I need a drink, you guys,’ you mutter into your empty glass, but neither of them hear you, too wrapped up in each other. You roll off the bed onto your feet and slink unsteadily into the kitchen.

‘Woah,’ you giggle out loud to yourself, as the floor shifts beneath you. ‘I’m druunk as a skuunk.’ Pawing at the bottle, you manage to unscrew the top, only for it to ping off and roll under the counter. _Ugh._

You decide to pretend you didn’t see where it went, and instead focus on pouring yourself a cupful of ‘Sea Whisky’. The name calls up images of a salty, throat-burning drink; so its delicious, bubbly taste had come as a welcome surprise.

As you plod back into the room, drink in hand, you smile at the sight of Undyne and Alphys together.

Undyne has moved to sit next to Alphys, a little too close to be by accident. They’re both blushing, with faces cracked wide by smiles.

‘Wait.’ You squint at them, then mouth at Undyne  _Does she know?_

‘M-m-m-marie, you know I c-c-can see you, r-right?’

‘Ahh! Uh, yeah, I knew that!’ You scratch the back of your neck sheepishly. ‘But uh, do you? Know?’ Alphys and Undyne look at each other, then back at you, beaming.

‘SHE KNOWS!’ Undyne yelps. ‘AND SHE LIKES ME TOO!’

‘I t-t-totally d-do!’

‘Told you so, hah!’ You gloat, doing a little dance, then stopping because _wow_ everything is spinning. ‘Aw, does this mean I’m gonna be third wheeling for the rest of the night?’

Undyne fixes you with an evil glare. ‘Yes. Yes you are.’  
Alphys snorts into her hands.

‘Okay, I’m gonna… get into PJs…’ You mumble, running a hand through your hair and looking around for your bag. It takes you a good 5 minutes of stumbling round Undyne’s house before you find it, out in the hall. You pull out a borrowed t-shirt: Jackpot! You tug off your baggy jeans and tank top and pull the shirt over your head. Overall, within thirty seconds you’ve changed from fully-clothed to a t-shirt and underwear.

‘Whoo, I win!’ You slur to yourself. ‘Wow, I need to stop talking to myself. Undyne? Alphys? Decent?’ You knock on the door, and agreement choruses through from the inside.

‘Yo.’ You do peace signs, belly-flopping onto the bed. ‘Aw, Alphys, your PJs are adorable.’

‘But not as adorable as _you_ ,’ Undyne says in her ear with a shit-eating grin, confidence growing with every second. Alphys giggles into her hands, struggling to hold Undyne’s eye contact.

‘Oh, god, you feckin’ love birds,’ you groan. ‘Get a roooom!’

‘You’re one to talk!’ Undyne squeals, launching another pillow at you. Her aim is only getting worse. ‘Ooh, Sans, your puns are so hot. Ooh, Sans, the way you eat ketchup is such a turn on.’ She bursts out laughing at your facial expression.

‘Wait… you think I like Sans?’ You ask, bemused. Alphys starts to giggle.

‘ _O-o-obviously!_ ’

‘You too?!’ You moan.

‘Marie, you have the biggest crush. It’s obvious.’

‘Wh-? How is it obvious? I don’t even- _I don’t even like him_!’ You yell, drumming your hands onto the mattress.

‘Look at how flustered she is!’ Undyne snorts, and Alphys nods, laughing too hard to breathe.

‘I don’t though? I’ve never even thought of him that w-’

‘-Ooh, S-s-sans, that b-blue h-h-hoodie would l-look b-b-better on my b-bedroom f-floor.’ Alphys interrupts you, and Undyne howls with laughter, pounding on the floor. You laugh a little, despite yourself.

‘Guys, I honestly… I’ve never thought of him like that. Half the time I’ve known him I was trying to convince him I’m not a murderer!’ You protest. Your tongue is heavy from alcohol, all the convincing arguments in your head twisting away before you can grasp onto them. As you’re trying to conjure up an idea of exactly why you don’t like Sans, your phone buzzes in your back pocket.

**/Sans, 1 minute ago**

**having a good time?**

You smile at the screen.

‘Who was it?’ Undyne asks in a singsong voice.

‘It was Sans.’

‘AHA!’ She screams, pointing at you.

‘He was just checking if I was having a good time! Get some chill!’

‘M-m-marie, you kn-know it’s like, the m-m-middle of the n-n-night, right? He’s th-thinking about y-you instead of sl-sl-sleeping.’ Alphys says, clasping her claws under her chin and making puppy dog eyes at you.

‘He’s just…’ You stop halfway through your sentence. Actually, that is pretty cute.

‘See?!’ Undyne shouts. ‘You’re soul mates!’

‘Wow, okay. Okay, soul mates.’ You’ve run out of arguments, so instead choose to rely on your good buddy sarcasm to make it seem like their words aren’t getting in your head. Because they totally aren’t.

You haven’t thought about Sans like that, ever, ever. It sounded stupid in your head, like a rom-com designed for teens, a cliché trope- but you really hadn’t. He’d been someone to be wary of, and then he hadn’t. Someone who didn’t like you, then someone who did. Platonically. Right?

You groan a little, letting your chin fall into your hands. Your head is spinning.

As Alphys and Undyne mumble softly to one another- they’ve moved on from talking about you and Sans, and are now talking far more intimately- your eyes start to close.

 _Could_ you ever like Sans? Could _he_ ever like _you_?

‘I don’t know,’ you mumble aloud.

‘What was that, Marie?’ Undyne asks, but you’re already fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so... much... dialogue...  
> idk normally i like to keep my updates pretty beefy on paragraphs, rather than stringy and cut up with lots of dialogue if y'know what i mean  
> 'dot, undyne and alphys are really comfortable around eachother considering how nervous alphys is at this point in the game!' she be drunk, my friends  
> 'dot, alphys hasn't told anyone about true lab yet in this timeline, why isn't she acting more guilty?' she be DRUNK, my friends
> 
> my sparkling cinnamon roll of a beta reader - queendubstep.tumblr.com  
> my trashcan of a blog - chickaloho.tumblr.com  
> lotsa love,  
> dot


	19. hangovers, teleporters

Your eyes flicker open as your mind reluctantly sidles into wakefulness. Your head throbs with pain, your body heavy and sluggish. Your breath smells like death. Blinking, you regard the scene before you- you’re spread eagled on Undyne’s bed, alone in her room. You sit up- slowly- and grimace at the extra wave of pain that shoots through your temple. Alrighty, big hangover, you can deal. Getting to your feet- again, slowly- you make your way into the kitchen. You groan out loud at the sight of Undyne bouncing from foot to foot while frying eggs.

‘How do you have that much energy?’ You complain, slinking to the table and taking a seat next to Alphys.

‘I kn-kn-know, right?’ Alphys agrees, holding a cold glass of water to the side of her head. You give her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, before burying your head in your arms.

‘Aw, I’m just making breakfast for my best friend in the whole wide world-’ Undyne croons, leaping over to the table and tipping a fried egg onto your plate- ‘and my- um, Alphys!’ She says, suddenly awkward, giving Alphys a fried egg too.

‘Uh, th-th-thanks!’ Alphys says, equally awkward. Yikes. Looks like they haven’t talked about feelings since their drunken conversation last night. She sets down the glass and takes up a knife and fork, shoveling the egg into her mouth. ‘Delicious,’ she mumbles through her mouthful.

‘Yeah, uh, looks great,’ you agree, poking at your egg with your fork. It’s hard and rubbery, and the yolk’s a weird green colour. ‘Hey, Dy? It okay if I maybe pass on breakfast? Feeling pretty gross.’ Undyne shrugs.

‘More for me!’ She sits, pulling your plate over, and tucks in. If she notices how over-cooked the egg is, she sure doesn’t show it. You go back to laying your head in your arms, letting your eyes fall shut. The brief moment of peace is just that, a moment, before your phone buzzes. It’s Sans.

**/Sans, just now**

**hey, lmk when you want picking up**

Oh, you’d forgotten that Sans had promised to pick you up this morning.

‘Undyne, do you have a shower?’

‘Nope! I do all my washing in the waterfall waters.’

‘Oh. Um. Okay.’ While wondering how hygienic that is, you type out a reply. You need a shower ASAP, and if Undyne doesn’t have one, you have to go to the skelebro’s.

**/Marie, just now**

**I’m pretty much ready to go! Whenever works:)**

**/Sans, just now**

**be there in 10, making the kid breakfast**

‘Sans is gonna pick me up in like, ten minutes, if that’s okay.’ You tell them, and they both nod in acknowledgement.

‘Alrighty. You wanna get changed?’ Undyne asks, eyeing your bare legs before donning an evil smile. ‘Or is Sans seeing you like that part of the plan?’

‘What plan?!’ You yell, wringing your hands. ‘I don’t like him!’

‘Uh, huh. I believe you. Totally.’

‘Ugh, it’s too early for this shit,’ you huff, and go to find your stuff. You’re not really irritated at Undyne, just… at yourself. Because her words are giving you ideas, and you’re sure as hell not ready for those. You decide to go ahead and blame Undyne for them.

 

You’ll be showering when you get home anyway, so you decide there’s not much point in changing clothes. You wash your face, slip on a pair of shorts and tie your hair back. God, you feel nauseous, and you look like shit. You trace the bags under your eyes with a finger. Hangovers don’t suit you.

When you reenter the kitchen, putting your packed bag ready by the door, Undyne and Alphys are sitting awkwardly, not making eye contact. You suspect that with soberness came insecurity, disbelief. They’re not sure where they stand with each other. God, you want to help but you’re so bad at this stuff! You rub your aching head for a second, then decide to say fuck it.

‘So,’ you begin, sitting on the table and resting your feet on a chair. ‘You guys like each other.’ Sick one, Marie, blunder right in there. Alphys almost chokes on her coffee, and Undyne casts you a furious glance.

‘Marie!’

‘What? You guys can’t go on like this. Look at you.’ You gesture clumsily at the two of them to illustrate your point. They look at each other, blush, then look away. ‘I’m just throwing it out there. Think of me as your therapist! Undyne. You like Alphys. Yes?

‘Yes.’ She growls through gritted teeth. Alphys swings round to look at her.

‘Y-you d-d-do?’

‘Duh!’ Undyne says, masking her shyness with her usual gruff exterior.

‘Oh. I… I d-d-do, too! You, I m-mean,’ Alphys says. Her face is suddenly full of guilt and pain, but she blinks it away. ‘I r-r-really d-do!’ You frown. You’re about to ask if she’s alright- that look on her face, that was really something- when there’s a knock at the door.

‘That’ll be Sans,’ you say, traipsing over and throwing the door open. ‘Hey, dude.’

‘sup. hey undyne, alphys, how’s it going?’ Both of them give awkward thumbs up, looking at each other, then Sans, then each other again. Sans raises an eyebrow. ‘alriight. uh, you ready to go, marie? you look tired.’

‘Gee, thanks.’ You say, sarcastically. ‘But yeah, I am. Ready, I mean.’ You pick up your bag, and give Undyne and Alphys a big smile. ‘Bye, guys! Thanks for last night! And, uh, good luck.’

‘Bye, bitch.’ Undyne says, smiling despite herself, and Alphys giggles.

‘B-b-bye, Marie!’

‘okay, hold on tight.’ Sans takes hold of your arm.

‘Wha-?’

The bright setting of Undyne’s house falls away into darkness, and all you can see is an all-engulfing black. You’re falling. Blue and green stars flit across your vision. You try to scream and fail as something tightens around your chest until you can’t breathe, your stomach flips, you hear crackling in your brain.

Suddenly your feet are back on the ground, the darkness fades and the panic falls away as you realize you’re stood in the Skelebros’ Kitchen. The whole experience lasted maybe a second. You heave a huge breath, your legs turning to jelly. You bend over, supporting yourself with your hands on your knees.

‘The fuck was that?’ You gasp- if you had been able you would have yelled it, but right now you were concentrating on staying upright. Before Sans says anything you answer your own question- teleporting.

‘eh, i took a shortcut.’ Sans shrugs, and you groan.

‘Oh, god, I need to go to the bathroom.’ You stumble up the stairs, clutching your stomach and inwardly cursing Sans. You can feel bile rising in your throat- your poor alcohol-filled system was not ready to defy the laws of time and space.

You make it to the bathroom, kicking the door shut behind you, before throwing up the entire contents of your stomach into the toilet. Mainly sea whisky and popato chisps.

‘Oh god,’ you whine, wiping your mouth. _That’s probably the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done in front of a guy you like. Like? What? No, I don’t!_

‘marie?’ Sans knocks at the bathroom door, his voice a little panicked. ‘you good?’

‘Uh huh,’ you say, shutting the toilet lid and flushing it, before letting your legs give way and flopping into a seated position. You lean against the sink, curled up in a ball. That was really gross.

‘are you dead?’ Sans asks, trying to keep his voice light but clearly worried.

‘Only slightly,’ you whimper.

‘can i come in?’

‘At your own risk.’ He pushes through the door and takes in the sight of post-vomit you, clammy and slightly green.

‘shit, marie, are you sick?’

‘Nah, just…’ You rub your head for the fortieth time today. ‘Just wasn’t ready for teleporting. I had kind of a lot to drink last night.’ Sans winces, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

‘sorry. shoulda given you more warning.’

‘Yup.’ You nod for a second, before grabbing at the sink and pulling yourself up. Ugh, every movement is an effort.

‘listen, i’m guessing you want a shower,’ Sans says, and you nod. ‘yeah. okay, so you shower and i’ll make breakfast. frisk’s out with their friends, and pap’s running errands, so take your time.’ You smile gratefully.

 

Sans leaves, and as the sound of pots and pans starts to clatter downstairs, you turn on the shower and step in. Remembering Sans told you to take your time, you shrug and sit down cross-legged. As the water rolls through your hair and down your shoulders, spray making you shiver, you trace patterns in the water being drained away. _Do you like Sans?_ You ponder the thought of him as you run your hands through your tangled hair, working soap through it. His intelligence, his loyalty, his kindness. _What if you do? Why are you so scared of liking him?_ You hug your knees; rest your chin on your arms. Close your eyes. _Because I don’t want it to go wrong_ , you think. _It’s so… easy this way. No risk. Everything always goes wrong when there’s feelings involved._

You think about Johnny, about how loud life was with him. He drowned everything else out. That was why you liked him; it was a welcome relief from the stifling silence you’d lived with in France, with your dad. His very person sounded like music to your ears; but it turned into shouting

Your ex-girlfriend, who made you into a whole different person. At the time you were sixteen; your mother hadn’t left yet, so she was the one getting beaten. You’d welcomed a little personality change. The new clothes she bought you, the drugs she gave you, the crazy things she made you do. It was your way of spiting your father; the smoking, the sex, the girlfriend. She turned your sexuality into a weapon, or maybe you did- either way, it wasn’t exactly great for making you feel valid. Change, change, change. She was full of it.

You raise your head from your arms, tears welling up.

Figuring that sitting in the shower and crying is just a bit too pathetic for your liking, you get to your feet. You wipe your eyes, and start washing the soap out of your hair.

Sans was different, though. He didn’t change you. He didn’t drown anything out, much less you. He was just…

You turn off the water and towel yourself off, before starting to get changed.

He was just _safe_.

You pick up your toothbrush, smear some of the homemade toothpaste onto it, and start brushing your teeth, staring at yourself in the mirror. How could you and Sans even work, anyway? A monster and a human? You wonder if that’s ever happened before. Not to mention… in the bedroom… you blush a little, thinking of his blue tongue. _Well, if he can summon body parts, why not_ \- NOPE, NOT THINKING ABOUT THAT. You spit, rinse out your mouth, and stretch. You felt infinitely better.

Padding downstairs and almost dribbling at the sight of golden buttered toast and a cup of golden flower tea, you huff a contented sigh.

‘Thanks, Sans.’

‘no prob, buddy. feeling any better?’ He’s wearing his signature grin, but behind his eyes he’s genuine. He cares. You smile at him, picking up the mug and letting it warm your hands.

‘Much.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have approx 0 wifi tonight so here's a very quick note!  
> follow my ever-lovely beta reader - queendubstep.tumblr.com  
> and follow mee for shits 'n giggles  
> lots of love  
> -dot


	20. book consultations, bloody history

‘Frisk, I’ve honestly got nothing,’ you say, frustrated. You don’t know why you’d agreed to Charades. You sort of hated it, and it was early morning. Frisk had been standing, thrusting their arms out perpendicular to their sides with increasing impatience for the last five minutes. ‘Do something different.’ They stick their arms out again, and you sigh. ‘I give up.’

 **Titanic!** Frisk signs, incredulous that you didn’t get it.

‘Oh. Oh, like the “I’m flying!” scene? Oh. My bad.’ Frisk gestures, as if saying _Duh!_ , before sighing.

**Your turn.**

The familiar buzz of magic runs through you, which is your only warning before Sans appears. He’s finally up; dressed in his usual basketball shorts, grey t-shirt and blue hoodie. ‘hey. ready to go?’

‘Sure am. Frisk, to be continued?’ Frisk pouts a little, picking at the ugly carpet. ‘Hey, we’re only gonna be out for a few hours, then I’m all yours. All the charading you could possibly imagine.’ They look up at you through their fringe for a tense second. Then they shrug, their irritation dissipating; replaced by an easy smile. You ruffle their hair affectionately, before following Sans out the door and into the snow.

Today you and Sans planned to go visit the town library and read up on human magic, see if there’s anything about human magic there. You’re also hoping they have some good fiction; you miss reading. You’d had an impressive collection back in France, but had to leave it behind for obvious reasons. Then you’d been skating from place to place in Ireland, with no money for books or anything else.

‘Frisk’s a little moody today,’ you observe.

‘oh, that happens every once in a while. don’t take it personal.’ You hum in acknowledgement.

‘Must be difficult for a kid, being trapped down here.’ Sans nods, and the two of you walk in comfortable silence for a while.

‘so, fair warning,’ Sans speaks up as you approach the library. ‘the sign’s misspelt, but the receptionist lady gets pretty, uh, tetchy about it if you mention it.’

‘The sign…?’ You trail off, looking up at the sign. ‘Oh, that’s annoying.’ Sans laughs, shrugging.

‘s’just always been that way.’

‘Okay. Just… I’m just not gonna think about it.’

‘gotta love our good ol’ librarby.’

‘Blech. Nope.’ Sans laughs at your disgust- you’d always been a bit of a grammar fanatic- and pushes open the library door, holding it behind him for you. ‘Oh, thanks!’ You say awkwardly, ducking under his arm and into the building. Your loud volume earns you an eyebrow raise from the receptionist, and you blush, mouthing your apologies.

You glance around, taking in the well-lit room. Although the size of the room is pitiful, the walls are lined with shelves, stuffed full of water-logged literature. You run your finger along the spines. The variety is notable, car magazines mixed in with heavy novels; almost every one curling and crumbling from water damage. You smile wryly at the sight of Of Mice and Men. In school, you’d had to dissect it until you were absolutely sick of the idea of rabbits and alfalfa, and now you were stuck with it underground. Wonderful.

Sans points at a small ladder propped up against the back wall, and you nod. Passing the table in the middle of the room- smiling politely at a monster sat scribbling in a notepad- you take the ladder two rungs at a time, scrambling off the top rung less-than-gracefully and shuffling backwards so Sans can join you. The ceiling is too low here for you to stand, but there’s a space where two people can sit comfortably, out of sight of the receptionist lady. Back here, the books are bound in leather, and aren’t water damaged. You decide these must be books authored by monsters, that haven’t had to fall down a hole to receive a place in the librarby.

‘alright, let’s see,’ Sans mutters. ‘human history, human and monster relations, history of magic… human magic. let’s try that out.’ He pulls a couple of books off the shelf and tosses one to you. You both shuffle backwards until your backs are against the wall, tucked in behind the bookshelves.

‘you can talk normally back here without being heard,’ Sans says, grinning at you. ‘no risk of pissing off the receptionist- oh _wait_ , you already did that.’

‘Uh, yeah, while saying thank you to _you_! So really it’s all your fault.’

‘oh, uh huh. i see.’

You roll your eyes at him and open up your book. The pages are cracked and yellow, the ink smudged out of legibility. You flick through for a few minutes and finally find a page that hasn’t been completely smudged. It’s handwritten, and the words are _tiny_ \- you squint and find yourself able to read most of it.

  **The dust of monsters has multiple magical properties, as it contains the very essence of the monster’s soul. When making the barrier, human mages found that their own magic was not enough. This is why they began to sacrifice their prisoners of war- all monsters- using their dust as a catalyst for their own magical experiments. After the deaths of just under 100 monsters, they found a way to produce a barrier that would trap the monsters for all eternity. Thus began the end of the war.**

You let the book close in your lap, horrified. It was bad enough your race had trapped the monsters underground forever- but the fact that they killed hundreds to achieve that fact is just the cherry on the cake. God, you’re continually disgusted by your species.

‘sup?’ Sans asks absently, looking up briefly from his reading to see you’ve abandoned your book.

‘It’s… It’s not helpful.’ You tuck a stray curl behind your ear, shaking your head. ‘It’s about the barrier. How it was formed.’ Sans winces, sudden understanding filling his face.

‘oh. yeah, that’s… that’s…’ He trails off, seeing the intense guilt on your face. ‘not helpful,’ he finishes firmly, taking the book out of your hands and putting it back on the shelf. ‘it was a long time ago. humans have changed, right?’

You look at the floor for a second. _Have we?_ You sigh, then look back at him. You were vaguely expecting to find some resentment in his face, some blame, but he just looks worried about you. You breathe a sigh of relief.

‘I sure hope so. We can’t have gotten any worse.’

‘heh. wanna hear what i found?’ He asks, holding up the book he was reading. The change of subject is a welcome relief, and you nod with a smile. ‘aight, so this book basically says we were right- the barrier ‘infects’ any human who touches it. it awakens their potential magic.’

‘Wait, potential? So I was always a leaky tap, it just needed unlocking?’ Sans snorts.

‘sure, if you wanna call yourself that.’

‘Huh.’

‘it doesn’t have much on humans training to use their magic, just that mages are all dead-’

‘Fucking good,’ you mutter, and Sans casts you an appreciative glance before continuing.

‘-and magic is meant to come kinda naturally over time. practice makes perfect, basically.’

‘Ugh. Effort,’ you grunt, flopping onto your back. After a second Sans joins you in lying down, and you grin, rolling over to face him.

‘Hey.’

‘hey.’

‘D’you think this is the make out spot for monster teenagers?’ You ask suddenly, then cringe. God, why don’t you have a filter? Sans lets out a startled laugh, sockets wide.

‘marie!’ Pale blue dusts across his cheekbones.

‘Sorry, sorry! Made it weird. Uh, Sans, what is that? The blue.’

‘the… blue?’ He asks nervously, and his face turns a deeper shade.

‘Is it… Are you blushing?’ You ask, grinning.

‘well yeah, because you’re staring at my face!’ Sans says defensively, only becoming more blue, and you laugh.

‘Aw, I’m sorry!’ You giggle, blushing a little yourself. Sans’ grin widens, but he doesn’t mention it. The two of you regard each other for a moment, then you roll back onto your back and look at the ceiling.

‘So, the barrier.’

‘yeah, the barrier.’

‘Presumably if the King- Asgore, right? If he met me, he’d want my soul.’

‘yeah, he doesn’t know about you- or frisk, actually.’

‘He doesn’t- are you serious?’

‘well, yeah, every time asgore stops by the school to give a talk, frisk takes a sick day. if, for any reason, he’s walkin’ through snowdin, frisk gets home as quick as possible.’

‘That does _not_ seem sustainable,’ you say, chewing your lip in worry. Imagine if Asgore got hold of Frisk.

‘yeah, it’s not. but what else can we do?’ Sans shrugs. ‘i get the feeling…’ Sans props himself up onto one elbow, looking at you. ‘i get the feeling asgore might know. or at least know- maybe unconsciously; that something’s going on, but he doesn’t want to confront it. he’s lost faith that he’s doin’ the right thing, i think.’

‘Then he’s a goddamn coward,’ you decide angrily. ‘He’s killed so many children, and _now_ he’s having second thoughts?’

‘i know, i know,’ Sans says, sighing and laying back down. ‘he’s a douche if nothing else.’ You snort at his words, but your laughter is quickly quelled by thoughts of Asgore.

A man that would not hesitate to kill you. To kill Frisk. Right? The few things you’d heard about him were conflicting; a few bitter words from Sans, nostalgia from Undyne, sympathy from Frisk. This guy was described to be a pushover and a killer in the same sentence, a God and a tea-lover. You frown, and push away thoughts of him. You’d deal with that problem if you came to it. No, _when_ you came to it.

Sans looks at you, your eyes flicking back and forth across the ceiling as you think- he wonders, not for the first time, what’s going on your brain. What’s going on in your _skull_? He thinks, holding back a laugh. Okay, that pun was bad.  
He takes in your soft freckles, your dark lashes lining brown doe eyes. He thinks to himself that you’re kind of beautiful.

‘you about ready to go back home?’ Sans asks, and you smirk at him.

‘We’ve only been here like, half an hour.’

‘well, you have a game of charades to get back to,’ Sans teases, as he gets to his feet and holds out his hand.

‘Noo,’ you groan, letting him pull you up. ‘You have to join in at least, I can’t deal with another round of guessing which number Mettaton movie they mean, out of twenty-seven.’ He laughs.

‘hm, tempting, but no thanks. it okay if i teleport us?’

‘Blech,’ you say, but grab onto his arm anyway.

As the background of the library falls away and your chest begins to tighten, you figure teleporting’s pretty cool, when you’re not feeling like your stomach is doing triple somersaults. You look at your arm, looped through Sans’, as the place you’ve come to know as home settles into focus before you. Yeah. This is pretty cool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey hey hey it's the tuesday update  
> follow my sparkly beta friend - queendubstep.tumblr.com  
> and my less sparkly blog - chickaloho.tumblr.com  
> mwah! a kiss!  
> -dot


	21. shower antics, decorating montage

‘Argh!’ You shriek.

‘argh!’ Sans yells.

The bathroom door slams shut.

Holy shit. Sans just walked in on you getting out the shower. Holy shit.

You press a hand to your frantically beating heart. Oh god, that was so embarrassing! Holy shit! You let go of the shower curtain that you’ve been hiding behind, and reach for a towel. Holy fuck, your heart is beating fast. You dress quickly, and tame your curls just enough to tie them into a loose braid down your back.

You stare at yourself in the mirror, pressing your cold hands to your face- your cheeks are still scarlet. Oh god. You have to go out and see him. You open the door gingerly; pad along the hall and down the stairs. Sans is sat alone in front of the TV, face a bright blue. When he sees you he hastily gets to his feet, full of flustered apologies.

‘marie, holy fuck, i’m really sorry the door wasn’t locked-’

All at once, seeing his blue face, you see the funny side. You start to laugh. Sans stares at you, bemused, as you cover your mouth with your hands, doubling over in fits of adrenaline-fueled laughter.

‘It’s,’ you snigger, ‘It’s kind of funny.’ Sans looks at you for a few seconds more, his grin steadily growing.

‘so it’s… it’s fine?’ He asks in disbelief.

‘It’s fine,’ you snicker. ‘Just…’ You stick out your hand for him to shake. ‘Let’s agree to maybe never talk about it again.’ He takes your hand and shakes it, starting to laugh too.

‘okay, but before the whole never-talking-about-it-again thing, why the _fuck_ didn’t you lock the door?!’

‘I thought I did!’ you protest,

‘maybe you _wanted_ me to walk in,’ he teases, all of his awkward embarrassment gone, and you hit his shoulder.

‘You wish.’

‘psht. right,’ he scoffs, as Papyrus flings open the door and struts in; Frisk following him like a little duckling.

‘Hey Paps!’ You chorus. ‘Hey, Frisky.’

‘HELLO, MARIE! BROTHER!’ Papyrus says cheerily, heading into the kitchen. Frisk runs up to you, grinning proudly, and pulls up their sleeve to reveal a big bruise painted across their forearm.

‘Wow. That is a battle wound and a half.’ They nod smugly. ‘Training good?’ They nod again, pulling their sleeve back down their arm. Papyrus returns from the kitchen with a glass of milk.

‘HERE, FRISK! GOOD TRAINING REQUIRES GOOD REPLENISHMENT.’

‘Papyrus, did you give Frisk this bruise?’ You ask, more curious than accusatory.

‘ME? OF COURSE NOT! I AM MORE THAN CAREFUL AT ALL TIMES WITH MY MAGIC. NO, FRISK GOT THAT FROM FALLING OUT OF A TREE WHILE CLIMBING WITH HIS FRIEND.’

‘Oh, is that-’ You pause to think it over; you’ve never been good with names- ‘Monster Kid!’ Frisk takes a break from chugging their milk to nod vigorously. They set the glass down and sign **He couldn’t climb because he doesn’t have arms! So I tried to climb with him on my back.**

‘And you couldn’t?’ Frisk shakes their head, shrugging, before picking the milk back up and draining the cup.

‘EXCELLENT, FRISK! YOU’LL HAVE STRONG BONES IN NO TIME.’

You glance back round at Sans, who’s flopped down on the sofa, his eyes distant.

‘You okay?’ you check, smiling.

‘huh? oh, yeah. grand. i just had an idea.’

‘Did it hurt?’ You smirk, sitting down next to him and crossing your legs.

‘ha, ha. you’re hilarious. nah, i was just thinkin’ about the shed. you ain’t got much privacy here, right? but if we did up the shed so it was actually okay to live in, you could have your own place.’ You blink. He was asking if you wanted him to build you a house? Or, like, decorate you a house? What had you done to deserve this kindness? You tug at a strand of hair.

‘Really? You’d do that?’

‘sure, it wouldn’t be hard. specially with paps helpin.’

‘That’s not what I meant,’ you say softly, watching him. Giving you a permanent room here, that’s… acceptance. You’re part of the family. In just a few weeks, you’ve come so far. _Damn it Marie, no crying._

‘it would be no problem,’ Sans says gently.

‘That would…’ You take a second to make sure you’re not going to burst into tears. ‘That would be really, really amazing.’

‘alright. i’m gonna go talk to paps about it, but he’ll be onboard.’ Sans says, and you nod, smiling.

You tuck your legs up to your chest and hug them, resting your chin on your knees. You’re teary-eyed. After a year of running from home to home, then you get down here and Sans just offers? Just offers you your own safe place, without any repayment. You scrub at your eyes. _Come on. Don’t cry. You’ve done plenty of that._

Frisk runs up, springing up onto the sofa next to you, clutching two action figures. **Are you okay?**

‘Yeah, I’m fine. Just… monsters are so kind, huh?’ You say, taking one of the action figures that they hold out to you. They nod solemnly, fiddling with the limbs of their toy. ‘Who’s this dude?’ You ask, poking their doll in the head.

**The Great-** they hesitate, then spell it out. **D-E-S-T-R-U-C-T-I-N-A-T-O-R**

‘Uh huh, and who’s this one?’ You waggle the action figure in your hand.

**Bob.**

‘Just… Just Bob?’ Frisk giggles and makes their doll’s head nod. ‘Right, right. Bob. Got it.’ You make Bob walk along the back of the sofa, jump onto Frisk’s shoulder and scale their head.

The Great Destructinator attacks your ribcage.

‘Argh, stop, stop!’ You squeal, writhing away from Frisk’s tickling. ‘Mercy!’ You tumble off the sofa and land on a pair of well-polished red boots.

‘Oh, sorry Paps!’ You say, scooting backwards and giving Frisk a death glare over your shoulder.

‘THAT’S OKAY, MARIE!’ Papyrus holds out a hand, and you let him pull you to your feet. A small part of you notes how easily he lifted you up. He’s strong. ‘SO, YOU WANT TO GO PICK OUT SOME PAINT FOR THE SHED?’ He asks, hands on hips. Sans wanders up behind him, giving you a casual wink.

‘You’re really okay with it?’ You ask, pressing your hands to your chest.

‘CE

CERTAINLY! WE’RE GOING TO MAKE YOUR NEW ROOM THE MOST BEAUTIFUL, SWANKY ROOM YOU’VE EVER SEEN!’

‘A hum-? Okay, yeah, that’s fine!’ You say giddily, pulling at the end of your braid. ‘WE CAN START RIGHT AWAY!’ Papyrus says excitedly, picking Frisk up off the sofa by their armpits and standing them by the front door.

**What’s going on?**

‘Paps and Sans are letting me make the shed my own little house,’ you explain, bending down to put on your shoes.

**Oh, cool!** Frisk starts to pull on their battered trainers. Papyrus clears his throat, suddenly authoritative.

‘SO, WE NEED TO BE ORGANIZED! TEAM 1, FRISK AND I, WILL BE CLEARING OUT THE SHED. WHILE WE DO THAT, TEAM 2, SANS AND MARIE, WILL BE CHOOSING PAINT AND OTHER NECESSITIES!’

Sans gives a thumbs up, and holds his arm out to you. ‘ready?’ You take it, nodding. You blow a kiss to Frisk just before the house fades away into black, and there’s suddenly snow beneath your feet. The wooden exterior of the shop clicks into focus before your eyes, and you blink in the bright white light. You push through the door, holding it open behind you for Sans to take, before picking up a shopping basket. You start wandering through the musty aisles, reading the labels carefully.

‘Hello, Sans!’ The lilac rabbit behind the counter says politely. ‘Any of these cinnabuns take your fancy today?’

‘heh. not today, lila. you got paint by any chance?’ You peer round the end of the aisle and discover a shelf full of pots.

‘Found ‘em!’ You pipe up, unable to see any more than the top of Sans’ skull.

‘Yes, they’re right over there, where your friend is.’ Sans strolls over as you squint at the various swatches.

‘There’s a lot of variety. Did these all fall down?’

‘nah, paint’s pretty easy to make with the resources we have,’ Sans says, leaning against the back wall as he watches you choose. It only takes you a second or two to decide on pale blue and white. You put both pots in a basket.

 

About twenty minutes pass, and you plonk your haul down on the counter. Two paint pots, a moth-eaten blanket, a battered metal lamp and a load of cooking utensils.

‘Do we need to buy a bed and stuff?’ You ask suddenly, as Lila scans up your items.

‘nah, alphys can make that in about five minutes. same goes for a stove.’

‘Cool,’ you smile.

‘That’ll be 45 gold, please,’ Lila smiles. Sans goes to get his wallet but you stop him.

‘Oh no, it’s fine! I’ve been saving.’ You dig in your pockets for the various gold pieces you’d been collecting on walks with Frisk. You tip them out of your hands onto the counter, enjoying the satisfying sound of money rolling along wood.

Lila thanks you, scooping it up, while Sans nudges you.

‘get you.’

‘I know, right?’ You exclaim- a little too excitedly- and he laughs. You’re just so sick of relying on everyone else. You’re incredibly grateful that you have the _ability_ to, but you don’t want to. 

When you arrive back, arms full of your new stuff, you see the shed completely gutted, bars and everything. ‘Guys, this is insane! We were gone like, half an hour!’ You say, amazed, stepping inside and looking at the shed without the scattered hay or ugly prison bars. You’re going to like living here.

‘THE GREAT PAPYRUS WORKS QUICKLY!’

**So does the great Frisk!** Frisk signs, grinning, and you pull them to your side in a half-hug.

‘I ALSO RANG UP ALPHYS, SHE’S MAKING A BED, STOVE AND PORTABLE TOILET! THEY’LL BRING IT OVER WITHIN THE HOUR!’

‘Oh gosh,’ you say, rubbing the back of your neck. ‘Did you tell her no rush? I don’t want her running about after me.’

‘SHE LIKES HELPING PEOPLE!’ Papyrus chirrups, before setting down a box of paintbrushes. ‘CAN WE START PAINTING?’ He asks eagerly, and you have to laugh. He’s so clever when he wants to be, and so childlike at the same time.

‘Only if you want!’

‘OF COURSE I WANT!’

‘Okay, so if I could have three walls white, and one blue, that would be great.’

‘THE GREAT PAPYRUS IS ON THE CASE!’

You pick up a paintbrush and flick open the pot of blue paint. ‘So is the Great Marie!’ Sans snorts, and you stick out your tongue at him.

* * *

 It takes you a little over two hours to finish your wall, including extra coats- Papyrus takes the same amount of time to paint three. You look at him incredulously, sweating, as he cleans off his brushes.

Alphys sits in the corner fiddling with various wires and screws, enjoying herself intensely. She rocked up an hour ago and immediately set to work installing the neat little stove she’d made, an apparently self-cleaning toilet (you decided you were still going to clean it), and a bed that folded up into a convenient cube whenever it was not in use.

You dunk your brush in a bucket of water and approach her. She’s muttering to herself, screwing a panel into the stove.

‘Hey, Alph,’ you say, stretching your arms. She jumps a little, before smiling back at you.

‘H-h-hey! Th-this should be g-g-good to g-go now, which m-means my w-w-work here is d-d-done!’

‘Damn, you work fast. All of you.’

‘thanks,’ Sans says behind you, and you jump about a foot.

‘Holy shit, don’t do that.’ He snorts with laughter, and hands you a cup of juice.

‘look, i’m being motivating,’ he says, handing Alphys another.

‘That’s all you’re doing, lazy bones,’ you mutter, and he raises his brow bone.

‘ _actually_ , marie, i’ve been working with alphys. so, shove that up yours.’ Alphys sighs, shaking her head, and turns away. You think you hear her mutter something about ‘lovebirds’. You decide against retorting to Sans’ remarks, instead giving him a look, before draining your cup. The juice fizzes on your tongue: magic. It’s a beautiful thing.

‘Thanks,’ you say, sighing happily. This is just so surreal. Your friends have spent the day doing literally nothing but working their asses off to do a nice thing for you- and getting you juice.

‘YOU LIKE?’ Papyrus asks happily, stepping back to admire the finished product. Your new home’s walls are a sheeny white, with the exception of the one opposite the door, which is a pretty powder blue. Your bed- its back pushed against this wall- is made of a neat, glossy white material, the sheets a pale blue that match the feature wall. In the back corner Papyrus has hastily constructed two faux walls that keep the bathroom private, and to the side of the door a tiny stove and a kettle marks your kitchen. The whole house is maybe four metres wide tops, and you absolutely love it.

‘I love,’ you say with reverence. Papyrus gives you a big bear hug, and you return it, laughing. ‘Thank you- all of you.’

They tell you not to mention it, that it was no big deal, no problem. They’ve given you so much, and refuse to let you thank them for it. You bite your lip, beaming. You don’t think you’ve ever been this happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i kind of hate this chapter  
> euuurgh  
> follow this sugar muffin - queendubstep.tumblr.com  
> and here's mine just in case you were wondering - chickaloho.tumblr.com  
> love you all  
> -dot


	22. forgiveness, can you imagine

You kick your shoes through the snow, enjoying the satisfying crumply sound beneath your feet. The grocery bags are cutting lines into your palms, but you don’t really mind. This quick shopping trip is your first time walking through Snowdin on your own. Not that it’s any significant achievement, but you treated yourself to a cinnabun at the shop anyway. Treat yoself. You lick your lips.

Your daydream about the sugary pastry is probably why you don’t notice the small monster that walks in front of you: you trip right over them and go airborne.

‘Wah!’ You yelp, throwing your bags aside in an attempt to save yourself. You land on your belly in the snow, knocking all the air from your lungs and planting your chin in the snow. You heave for air for a few seconds, then finally take a staggering breath.

‘God fucking damn it.’ You hiss through your teeth, eyeing a grocery bag that’s split open, before remembering the other monster. You scramble to a sitting position. ‘Oh shit, are you alright?’ For a few seconds you’re filled with relief to see the monster still standing, relatively untouched by your clumsiness- then you realize who they are. You’d recognize that massive hat anywhere.

‘You fell! Was it because of my hat?’ Ice Cap asks, carefully readjusting it to sit more comfortably on their forehead. Their voice is scratchy and nasal. You’ve never heard it before. Obviously. Knocking someone unconscious doesn’t exactly call for much conversation.

‘Wait. I know you.’ Their brow furrows, and you wait for it to click. You’re frozen. This is your chance to redeem yourself, and all you can do is stare. Ice cap’s eyes widen suddenly, and they take a step back from you. There it is.

‘You’re the bully!’ They say in outrage, one hand clamped on the icy brim of their hat.

‘I’m sorry!’ You cry, wanting to get to your feet but figuring staying at the Ice Cap’s level is a good idea right now. ‘I was having a bad day, and I really didn’t mean to hit you, it was an accident, but I did it and it was bad and I’m sorry. I really am.’

Ice Cap looks at you, cautious. ‘Accident?’ They raise an eyebrow, adjusting their hat again. You get the feeling he’s gonna milk this. You bite back your pride, instead choosing to fidget with your hair. ‘Nice hat,’ you try, grasping at straws. The Ice Cap’s chest swells in pride, face lit by delight.

‘Yes, isn’t it? Made it myself.’

‘Oh really? How?’ you ask, starting to gather up your spilled groceries.

‘A dollop of magic, and a gallon of style,’ they smirk, and you try not to laugh- you get the feeling they’ve rehearsed that line.

‘Wow. Well, again, I’m really sorry for elbowing you that one time, and sorry again now for uh, almost touching your _magnificent_ hat. You wanna… you wanna maybe come to my house for a cup of tea or something? I’ve got some cookies in these somewhere,’ you say, gesturing vaguely to the bedraggled grocery bags. The Ice Cap thinks it over for a second, then nods.

‘Yeah, I like cookies.’ You smile at them, pick up your spilt baggage and start walking to your house.

‘Hey, wait up! I have small legs!’

‘Oh, hah, sorry. My name’s Marie, by the way.’

‘Huh, haven’t seen you around. Where’re you from?’ You swiftly break off their train of thought by stopping at the shed door, shoving it open with your hip. No need to let anyone know you’re a human.

This one’s mine.’ You step into your new house, unable to stop yourself from beaming. _Your_ house. You love the sound of it.

‘Nice place! Didn’t this used to be the weird skeletons’?’

‘Uh, yeah, they helped me move in.’ You start to pack away the basic food you bought, leaving out the tea and biscuits.

‘Sit down, sit down, I’ll make the tea,’ you wave your hand, enjoying playing hostess.

‘Uh. Where?’ Ice Cap asks, and you pause. Oh, right. No table.

‘Oh. Uh, the floor okay? I can get you a blanket.’

‘It’s okay! I sit on the floor of my burrow all the time,’ Ice Cap assures you, plonking themselves down.

‘You live in a burrow?’ You ask, flicking on the kettle and getting two mugs out.

‘Only the best, coziest burrow in the whole world!’

‘Huh. Just you, or?’

‘Yeah, just me,’ Ice Cap says, their squawky voice losing a little of its bluster. You decide not to delve into that- seems like a sore spot. You pour the hot water into the mugs, resisting the urge to test out your powers and make it with your hands. You’re far off being able to do that.

‘Milk? Sugar?’

‘No thanks.’

‘Yeah, me neither. Sweet enough, right?’ You hand Ice Cap their tea- and the entire packet of cookies- then sit down opposite them, leaning your back against your bed. ‘So, that night,’ you begin. ‘When I… hit you. What were you doing out there? It’s pretty far out in the forest.’

‘Playing with my friend.’

‘Your friend?’

‘Uh huh, we were playing hide and seek.’

Ice Cap explains how they woke up, cold and scared, with no idea what was going on. They wandered through the forest until they were found by their friend. It took a day or two for the memories to come tumbling back, shadowy and not all there. They assumed you were just some bully; maybe one of the bears, or a rude dog sentry. As you sip your tea, letting them finish their story, you’re struck by two thoughts.

Number one, Ice Cap is pretty young. Their puffed-up nature, their slightly naïve outlook on life- you’d say they’re an early teenager, tops.

Number two, their guard is down. Any fear they held, any resentment, seems to have faded away after talking to you for a while. You gingerly allow yourself to hope that maybe, just maybe, they can forgive you.

‘Anyways, it’s nice to know it was an accident! Here I was thinking it was on purpose.’ Ice Cap chirps, setting down their empty cup. ‘Turns out you’re real nice! And you like my hat!’ You laugh lightly, nodding.

‘I mean, who wouldn’t.’

‘Right?! That’s what I keep saying!’ They shake their head in bemusement, before clearing their throat. ‘Anyways, I should be on my way. Thanks for the tea!’ Ice Cap jumps to their feet, checking that their hat is in place, and you get up to walk them out.

‘Thanks for coming, and, uh, understanding,’ you say, genuinely grateful to the self-absorbed little monster. They nod, fiddling with the glassy brim of their hat and smiling.

‘Bye, Marie!’

‘See you.’ As Ice Cap scurries off into the snowy landscape, you swing the door shut behind you, taking a deep breath. Wow. That was… pretty therapeutic, actually. Like confessing your sins, but better. Closure. You pick up the two dirty mugs and leave them in the sink, deciding to clean them later. The cookie packet lies empty on the floor. You sigh as you throw it away- you didn’t get one. Oh well, it’s an excuse to go back to the shop at some point and bag yourself another cinnabun. Or three.

You stretch out on your new bed, the sheets still giving off that new smell; the mattress deliciously plump.

‘This is the life,’ you sigh happily to yourself.

A knock at the door sounds out, along with the usual ‘sup.’ Sans.

‘Come in,’ you call, and Sans enters, bringing in with him a gust of cold wind. ‘Gah, close the door! So cold.’

‘sorry,’ he grins, kicking it shut behind him. ‘seems like a blizzard’s coming.’

‘You guys get blizzards? Don’t you literally control the weather with magic?’

‘eh, it’s complicated. we depend on sources that produce weather-like conditions, but it’s difficult to actually control anything because it’s based on pretty old magic. pretty much luck of the draw.’

‘Fair enough. You want tea?’

‘always.’ Sans takes your place on the bed as you go to fill the kettle for the second time that hour. It’s become a little tradition of yours for Sans to chill at yours for a little while after his sentry duties; just talking, joking around. Sometimes he’d bring a few books by and the two of you would just read.

‘How was work?’ you ask.

‘same old, same old. napped through most of it.’ You snort at that. ‘how’s clothes-making workin’ out for ya?’ Alphys stopped by the other day with some materials and a sewing machine. You knew the basics of sewing, but there was a difference between knowing how to sew in a straight line and knowing how to make a decent looking skirt.

‘Uh, could be better.’ You nod at your latest attempt, hung up on the bathroom door. It was meant to be a dress, but you couldn’t call it that. It’s far too big, and has strange lumps in strange places.

‘yikes.’

‘I know right? Here you go,’ you say, handing him his tea.

'thanks. you not having any?’

‘I just had some actually- you won’t believe who just stopped by.’ You join him in sitting on your bed, shifting to get comfortable. It doesn’t take long to tell him about the Ice Cap; how you fell over them- Sans laughs at that part- invited them over and sorted it all out.

‘They ate all my cookies, but I think they forgave me! It was pretty great.’ Sans is leant against the wall, regarding you with a lazy grin.

‘that is pretty great. hey, i’m proud of you bud.’

‘Yeah…’ You look at him for a moment, then smile. ‘I’m kinda proud too.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> couldn't resist the lil hamilton reference in the title
> 
> how are youse all? good? i'm okay. tired, but okay. well, sort of. working through some stuff. OH WELL  
> my lovely beta reader - queendubstep.tumblr.com  
> my shitheap - chickaloho.tumblr.com
> 
> slurp  
> -dot


	23. warm water, warm hands

The four of you sit on the floor of your house, eating dinner. Maybe one day you’ll get some chairs and a table- but eating on the floor is actually cracking up to be pretty damn fun; all your childhood dreams coming true. You’re munching your way through some of Papyrus’ spaghetti. Strangely, the more you’ve had it- and you’ve had it a lot- the less you hate it. Papyrus clears his throat.

‘ASGORE IS COMING TO SNOWDIN NEXT WEEK.’ You stop eating and stare at him, processing this.

‘Asgore?’ Papyrus nods solemnly, and you feel Sans’ eyes on you. ‘What… what’ll we do?’

‘HE’S ONLY COMING IN TO TALK TO THE KIDS! HE DOES IT ALL THE TIME. FRISK JUST HAS TO MISS SCHOOL FOR A DAY.’ Papyrus’ voice is a little sad- it’s not in his nature to deceive, but this situation’s forcing him into it. You push away the familiar sense of guilt at his unhappy expression. No matter what you do, you’re forcing Papyrus into discomfort. You hate it.

‘That’s it? He just comes into the school then leaves?’ You ask, worried. If any hurt came to Frisk… you don’t know what you’d do. You suppose you’d have to protect them. You think that, if it came down to it, you’d hurt in order to save Frisk. Your ice powers could do some damage. You look at their little face, and they smile back at you. Unafraid. Fucking insane little kid, talking about a murderer visiting and not even worried about it. Jesus. You love them to pieces.

**That’s it. No big deal.**

You smile tentatively at them then sigh, setting down your bowl. You’re not hungry anymore. You’re anxious. You can feel your heart beating a little too fast, your chest just a little too tight- the feeling’s unwelcome, but familiar. You’re scared. Fuck, you’re scared.

Dinner passes sluggishly, the thought of Asgore looming over you. Frisk asks if you want to come over and play, but you tell them you just want to sleep for a while. You just want to sit and deal with the anxiety until it’s gone, without being a burden- of course, you don’t tell them _that_. Papyrus gives you a big hug, assuring you that everything will be okay, no need to worry. Sans gives you a comforting grin as Frisk tugs him out of the room by the sleeve.

When they’re gone, you take a deep breath and lie down, trying to unwind. It feels like ants are crawling under your skin; you can’t lie still. Can’t get comfortable. Everything feels too complicated.

A few minutes of this pass by, you feeling unsettled and unhappy, scared of Asgore, scared of the inevitable truth that Asgore will find out about you and Frisk.

Eventually you get up, unable to stay still for any longer. You pull on your boots and head out into the snow to try and clear your head. You don’t have anywhere to be, but your feet take you towards Waterfall.

Thoughts of Asgore bring thoughts of the surface, swirling into your head on a conflicted wave of nostalgia. God, you’re so much happier down here, but there’s still stuff you miss. Are you allowed to miss it? Is it ungrateful to be given so much and still wish you could have things from the surface? You miss wind- the air down here is stale and still. You miss the stars. Most of all, you miss the sea.

The humidity of Waterfall hits you like a ton of bricks, wrapping itself around you and pushing in on your chest. You peer out over the pale blue waters, chewing your lip. You look down at what you’re wearing, a loose t-shirt and a knee-length black cotton skirt that you made yourself. You made it yourself; who cares if you get it wet? Suddenly you’re pulling off your boots and socks, pulling your skirt up and stepping into the shallow water, a smile stretching out on your face. 

* * *

 

Sans knocks on your door for the third time, again finding no answer. He’s worried about you. All through dinner you were staring off into the distance, mouth turned down at the corners. He came to check up on you. No answer. Frowning, he looks down at the snow and notices footprints leading away from your house to Waterfall. He shrugs, and follows the trail.

* * *

 The water only comes up to your thighs, and it’s lukewarm, but at least it’s something. You swish your fingers through the blue, smiling a little. It’s so tempting to lie back in it, let water soak into your scalp, but you resist. The walk back to Snowdin wouldn’t be very fun dripping wet. God, you miss the sea.

Sighing, you walk back to the edge of the pool and pull yourself up to sit in it, warm rock grazing your thighs, legs still submerged below the knees. You kick your feet absentmindedly, tipping your head back to look at the ceiling, studded with stalactites and gems.

The sound of footsteps behind you makes you swing round, alarmed. Asgore? No, it’s Sans, scuffing his slippered feet along the floor as he walks up to you.

‘hey.’ Sans smiles, looking a little concerned. ‘you okay?’

‘Shit, Sans, I thought you were Asgore.’

‘nervous, huh?’ He asks, sitting down next to you cross-legged.

‘Can you blame me?’ You ask, not meeting his eye and trailing your fingers through the water. You’re relying as usual on sarcasm to mask how scared you are.

‘course not,’ he says simply, and you smile. ‘y’know, we can probably make you a bath if you want to wash that badly,’ he teases, and you flick your hand through the water to splash him. He holds up his hands in mock-surrender, laughing, and you

‘Shut up,’ you smirk. ‘I’m just… missing the sea.’

‘the sea?’ he asks, leaning back on his hands and regarding you with interest.

‘Yeah, uh… fuck, I forgot you’ve never seen it.’

‘i mean, i’ve read about it. but, yeah. no.’

‘I used to swim in the sea basically everyday. Me and my mother used to go down there after school.’ You smile at the memory of your mother teaching you to swim through the wild waters, how the initial fear of sharks and jellyfish faded and confidence set in. ‘It was an escape, I guess.’ You sigh, leaning back on your hands to match Sans’ posture. A small part of your brain clicks that your pinkies are touching, which then turns into a big part as he moves his hand to cover yours. You peek at him out of the corner of your eye, and his face is painted a familiar pale blue. You weave your fingers with his, and whaddaya know, you’re holding hands now.

‘an escape?’ He asks casually, but the blue flush on his face gives him away.

‘Yeah,’ you grin, looking back across the waters. His hand is really warm. ‘The sea is wild, and it can’t be controlled. It’s free.’ You look at him, smiling. ‘That’s why I like it.’

‘sounds like you,’ he smirks, and you snort.

‘I think I’m more like a puddle. But thanks.’ He laughs gruffly, hand shifting a little around yours.

‘you’re not a puddle, marie.’

‘Aw, you say the sweetest things.’

‘if anything, you’re a… a fountain. producin’ water.’ You shoot him a look, unable to repress the grin.

‘Yeah. Right. Much better.’ You lift your legs up out of the water, watch beads of blue water roll off your feet, before letting them drop back in with a splash. After a moment’s hesitation, you lean your head on Sans’ shoulder. It feels natural. Nice.

‘well, the ocean sounds neat, but… i’m most looking forward to seeing the stars.’

‘I love space! God, I used to want to work at NASA.’

‘Nasa…? That’s the space company, right?’

‘Yeah, they build spaceships in America and send ‘em up into space. I used to want to like, do coding or something there. Be the brains.’ You fall silent at the thought of your old dreams. They got left behind when your dad made you quit school.

‘oh yeah? what changed?’ You chew your lip, trying to figure out how to talk about it.

‘I just… grew up, I guess,’ you murmur, nestling further into Sans’ shoulder. You’re not comfortable with this topic; shouldn’t have brought it up. Change the subject, change the focus, move on, move on. ‘What about you, what do you dream about?’

Sans hums softly, and the vibrations tickle your ear. ‘freedom.’

You close your eyes, a little sleepy, a little sad.

‘Don’t we all.’

There’s silence for a while; hands intertwined, his jaw resting on your head, your cheek nestled into the curve of his neck bone. Finally you shift a little, yawning.

‘Sans, could you take me home? I’m tired.’

‘hold on tight,’ is his only response, and you do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> blergh  
> my beta reader - queendubstep.tumblr.com  
> my tumblr - chickaloho.tumblr.com
> 
> IMPORTANT: this fic will be on a 1 week hiatus because i'm on holiday, see you on the 6th


	24. fresh air, sleepy snow

‘So we sat there for a while, and then I asked him to take me home.’ Undyne does a spit take, tea going everywhere.

‘You _what_?! You guys fucked?’

‘What?! No!’

‘Oh.’ She looks a little disappointed. ‘I thought you meant take you _home_ , take you home.’

‘Dude, no. He just dropped me off then went to his house. How would that even… How would we even…?’

‘How do you fuck a skeleton? Yeah, don’t ask me, punk. You’re on your own there.’

‘I’m not _asking_! I’m just…’

‘Asking,’ Undyne finishes for you, raising an eyebrow.

‘ _Curious_ ,’ you bite back, red-faced. Undyne will be the death of you, you swear.

‘F-f-finished!’ Alphys chirps, taking the leggings away from the sewing machine and holding them up against you. Alphys came round to rescue you from your terrible sewing skills, and Undyne tagged along because they’re officially dating now.

‘Alphys, you’re a wizard, thank you!’ She’s completely transformed your misshapen mess into a practical pair of pants that actually fit. What a miracle-worker. She needs to teach you to properly sew sometime.

‘N-n-no p-problem!’ Alphys smiles, as her phone buzzes. She picks it up and frowns, adjusting her glasses and beginning to type quickly.

‘You okay, Alph?’ Undyne asks, leaning back on her hands as you fold up your new pants and put them away.

‘Y-y-yeah, uh, M-Mettaton’s coming h-h-here, I th-think?’

‘Mettaton?’ You ask worriedly, turning to her. You’re determined to try to get along with him, but you don’t know if you’re ready to invite him into your home yet. He still makes you uncomfortable, even if he’s a decent person- and your house is your safe space.

‘I’m t-t-telling him he’s n-n-not-’ A loud knock interrupts her, and you have about half a second to groan inwardly before the door is flung open and Mettaton is stepping into your house. He looks fabulous as ever in his bright pink boots, one hand on his hip as he flicks his fringe out of his eyes.

‘Hello, beauties! Mind if I join this little tea party?’ Undyne groans loudly, clearly not giving two shits as to whether Mettaton knows her opinion of him. You blink, clear your throat, then speak up. ‘Uh, no, I guess I don’t mind,’ You manage, unsure of what to say. Should you apologize for not inviting him? Be angry he just turned up?

‘M-M-Mettaton, you weren’t r-r-really i-invited…’ Alphys stutters nervously, seeing your discomfort.

‘That’s alright, I forgive you,’ Mettaton flashes his film-star grin, and goes to sit at the head of your bed. You sigh, exchanging a look with Undyne.

‘You want tea, Mettaton?’ You ask resignedly, shrugging at Alphys to show your thanks for trying.

‘Goodness, no, darling. Do you have anything a little more exciting?’ You smirk, rolling your eyes- you have to admire his flamboyance.

‘Uh, for a midday drink? Probably not. I’ve only got sea whisky.’

‘Shame, I have a store of champagne back at my resort.’

‘M-M-Mettaton, you have one b-b-bottle. And it’s p-probably gone b-b-bad, anyway!’ Alphys stammers, courage gathered in two hands. Undyne lets out a loud snort of laughter, clapping her girlfriend on the back a little too hard. Mettaton tosses his hair petulantly as you giggle. Alphys goes red, giggling nervously.

‘Yes, well, whenever you’re ready to share that bottle, Marie, you know who to call.’ Mettaton winks at you, lips curving into a delicate smile. Your skin crawls.

‘Ugh, shut up, robot,’ Undyne says, and Mettaton bristles a little.

‘Goodness, I’m only teasing!’

You don’t respond, staring at the wall. Something about Mettaton just… reminds you of Johnny. Every wink, every seductive smile, it just… makes you feel sick. You look at your hands.

‘Marie, you alright?’ Undyne asks, nudging you. Her voice is low, soft in order to comfort you but vaguely threatening, ready to defend you. You feel a rush of warmth towards her.

‘Yeah, I might just… take a walk,’ You say, eyeing Mettaton, who’s blushing a little. _He didn’t mean it. He was just joking._ You get up and pick up your coat, smiling nervously at the three worried faces. ‘You guys can stay here if you want, eat whatever, drink whatever. I just need some air.’

‘You w-w-want us t-to c-come?’

‘Nah, I’m good on my own. See you guys,’ you say hurriedly, and escape out into the snow. You’ve nowhere really to go- you consider the library briefly, but opt instead to head out through the trees.

God, one suggestive- not even that- comment has left you this shaken. You think of Mettaton’s smile and feel Johnny’s hand closed around your wrist. You think of that predatorial look in his eyes, the one that Johnny had. You know that Mettaton’s just joking around, it’s part of his personality. You _know_ that.

Are you going to be like this forever? Has Johnny left that much of a mark on you, that you can’t ever be like that with someone again; get close, feel close, to anyone else?

No, that’s not true. Last night with Sans you were close, and you felt… nice. Yeah, nice. You close your eyes and smile at the memory of his hand round yours, and the tension in your stomach dissipates a little. _You’ll get over this. You’ll get through this. You are not your past._

When you reopen your eyes, you realize you’re near the clearing with a wooden hut- you’ve only come through here once. You barely remember it, you’d shut down completely. Papyrus had tugged you by the arm, away from the monster you’d thought you’d killed, into Snowdin.

You approach the hut, peering round the side curiously, before clapping your hands to your mouth to stop yourself from laughing. A very familiar skeleton is asleep inside. Sans is slumped over the counter, his stool tipped forwards ever so slightly, skull nestled in his arms. It’s so tempting to snatch his stool out from under him. God, it’s tempting. You tell yourself no, instead figuring you’ll let him sleep for a while. You draw the second stool up next to him and flop onto it. Mimicking his position, you bury your head in your arms and close your eyes, letting yourself relax. Next to Sans, warmth radiating from where your shoulder touches his, it doesn’t take you long to fall asleep.

* * *

 

Sans lifts his head groggily. He checks his watch, like he always does when he wakes up. It’s somewhat rare down in the underground- and basically useless- no one down here uses time to plan activities, because it’s so easy to lose track of. Sans only has because he had access to the Hotland laboratory. He thinks he made it- he must have. Or maybe he found it lying around- it’s been too long to remember. Gets fuzzy in his skull. Either way, he’s only been asleep for a half-hour or so.

It’s only now that he notices you sleeping next to him, arms folded, head tilted to rest against his arm. He feels a blush creep across his cheekbones. How did you get here? Why didn’t you wake him up? He watches your shoulders rise and fall, eyelids flickering occasionally.   
Sans hesitates, then, made bold by sleep, gingerly moves his arm out from under where your head rests and wraps it round your shoulders. Your nose twitches a little as he pulls you further into him, but you don’t wake. You nuzzle into his chest, smiling in your sleep, and he grins affectionately. Sans lets himself fall back to sleep like that, your face pressing into his chest, his chin nestled in your curls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so my lil hiatus is officially over! however some things are a-changin'.  
> my schedule of tuesdays, thursdays and saturday updates is gone! i will now only be uploading on sundays- i'm sorry, i've just joined a new school and it is a shitshow  
> interesting things that have happened in my first few days at school:  
> \- i'm literally the only one who's done any of the summer work  
> \- i bought all the wrong text books   
> \- there's this kid who bought a hot chicken dinner (like, gravy, potatoes, the works) and tried to take it out of the canteen. he was told he couldn't do that, so he shrugged and tipped the entire plate, gravy 'n all, into his backpack, set aside the plate, and kept on walking. he is truly a hero and i shall admire him to the end of my days  
> \- there's a group of girls who literally walked straight out of mean girls.  
> \- an example of this regina-george-ass behaviour? one cute gal, chloe, came in wearing four plaits in her hair. dis bitch felt the need to go 'ew, gross' to her feckin lackeys, then turn and say 'chloe, your hair looks super pretty today!' with a smile that could wither bloody flowers. why? why do you feel the need to do that???  
> \- i've tripped over 16 times in the past two days  
> \- i've gotten lost approximately 4 times in the past two days
> 
> alright kids that's all i can think of for now, anyways thanks for being patient with the hiatus and i'll see you dolls on sunday!!  
> \- dot


End file.
